


Circle, Stone & Sword

by milgrom



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 38,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milgrom/pseuds/milgrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were two Wardens - Caria Aeducan and Avile Surana. They defeated the Blight and lived. Now, trouble brews in Kirkwall and a spry mage leaves Amaranthine in secret, seeking vengeance for the death of her lover. Of course, nothing is so simple. </p>
<p>Set during Dragon Age II, somewhere in Act III.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She drew her cloak around her shoulders, as though the heavy cloth could hold off the stench of wine and smoke better than the cold. It was humorous, the types of places that permeated dark alleyways. Zevran had taught her always to keep her wits when wandering the cities at night. She had found it odd he would say such a thing, all considered, she did not think he would ever be gone as he was now. But she would heed his words, his warnings -- they had served well over these past years. And though she had never met him, K always kept her waist deep in information -- Ferelden, Orlais and Antiva, nothing escaped his scruples. A very good ally for an elf, mage and Warden hero to retain.

"Welcome Lady S." A small human girl approached her first, moving through the throngs of people with the grace of a cat. She smiled coyly and grabbed for her hand, leading her gingerly through the sweaty, drunken crowd. The little girl took her to a side room, lined with candles and the heady smell of Antivan incense filled the air. "Please sit, my lady. Messere will be with you shortly." The little girl struggled with the heavy carved wood chair, but managed to pull it free so Avile could sit. 

She studied the tapestries that lined the small office, marveled slightly over the hand-carved desk that sat much too high for anyone of elven stature and she had to wonder if K was a giant hiding amid thieves and ne'er-do-wells. Minutes passed and she took down her hood, scratching through her long hair. She hated waiting, but the words of his note played over in her head.

_'A friend of ours has been seen in Kirkwall. Please come to my offices immediately.'_

It had been unsigned, just as all of K's communications. She had never met the man, and even though Zev had always said never trust anyone who refuses to show you his face, she had no choice but to trust him. When Taliesin's dogs had come for her, it was K's men that beat them back and sent a warning that resonated with the Crows throughout Thedas. His one movement, as insignificant as it was, had blasted her to the top of the financial markets in Antiva. Her new-found influence had made it easy to buy out Guild Masters, one by one. Couple that with the mercenaries K had hired in Antiva and Avile was all but set to become the next reigning Queen of Antiva. 

"Welcome Lady Surana. It is a pleasure to finally meet you." Avile turned to stand, her eyes falling on the tall woman, stocky yet still thin, made of all muscle and long raven black hair. Over her left eye she wore a patch made of gold and stamped with the insignia of a lion. The woman extended her hand and was left to watch as the little redheaded mage stared aghast. 

"You ... You're K?" The woman brought a hand to her mouth to suppress a small laugh and she moved toward her desk. She towered over Avile, not uncommon for humans to do that of course, but K was exception. 

"Were you expecting a man?"

"Yes."

"That happens more than you would think, my lady."

"Please, just call me Avile. I should think we are beyond formality."

"Indeed we are." K smiled softly. "Well, Avile. Let us get to business, shall we?" 

Avile sat once more, trying to look at K's good eye and failing. Nervousness flooded her bones and the feeling was foreign, distant. She had slain a bloody archdemon, borne a healthy son in the bleakest of times, and yet, faced with this woman who had helped her just beyond the shadows for so many years finally had a solid lead for her to go on. Too long had she spent tracking Taliesin and too long had he gone along and lived while Zevran rot in the ground. The thought of vengeance that she would lay upon her lover’s former ally curled her fingers and fluttered the heart within her chest.

"Your note said that you found him. That he is in Kirkwall." Taliesin, Taliesin ... she could not recall his face, only his feral grin and his poisonous words. Cursing her, cursing Zevran and the sound of his blade being drawn from its sheath. She had vowed to hunt him, to make him pay. It was her honor and his that bound her to finding Taliesin and killing him. It was what should have happened in that dank alley, not the massacre it had turned to be. 

"Indeed, it seems Lord Taliesin has made enemies in the Free Marches. He assumed he could travel south and my little birds would not hear." K leaned forward, single brown eye watching the redheaded mage for any sign that she knew Zevran was still alive. 

"What do you intend to do?" K asked with steepled fingers. The Crow had come to her, begging to keep Taliesin's arrival in the Free Marches secret. He had known since the beginning that his lovely lady had begun throwing money in Antivan coffers. He had watched and waited and struck when he could, providing the muscle her coin sorely needed. But Zevran had not anticipated K to not have her own motivations. Zevran could never have known that Taliesin had cost her an eye and a family. That she owed her brother just as much as the Lady Avile. 

_'Please K, she must not know that he is in the Free Marches. She must stay in Amaranthine. She is safe there.'_

_'Would she not be safer if she knew you still lived? Would she not abandon this fool revenge knowing you are alive?'_

_'It is better if I stay dead.'_

_'You are foolish.'_

_'I know.'_

_'If she does not hear it from me Zev, she will from someone else. Your little bird has many friends these days. You taught her well.'_

_'Too well I am afraid.'_

_'I will have to tell her.'_

_'I know, but that does not mean I can’t ask for you to not.'_

_'If you love her, go back to her Zev.'_

_'I wish it were so simple.'_

"Talisen owes me a debt." Avile sat straighter, knowing soon it would be over. She would have Taliesin's head on a pike, she would flay him alive, dismember him while he still breathed. There were many things she intended to do, but all that truly mattered was that Zevran could finally rest in peace. "One I intend to collect without prejudice." 

"Arrangements have been made for you to leave in two days time from Gwaren. The ship's captain is a trusted man of mine, he will keep your passage secret." K passed the documents across the desk into trembling hands. They were so small and pale, yet marred by a webbing of scars across her fingers and wrists. A face like a child and the body that had seen a thousand battles, Zevran had not been lying when he called her a force to be reckoned with. 

"Thank you K. This means ... a lot, really. More than you can know." The women stood, smiling at one another -- the culmination of eight years of work finally coming to a head. Avile would have her revenge and K would have retribution.


	2. Chapter 2

Loghain sat back at his desk, pulling at his shirt collar. It was too tight or he was too tired, either way the fabric clenched at his throat. He was sure it had more to do with the foul Taint slinking through his blood. The call and the dreams had gotten stronger in the last few weeks and soon enough he would have to leave. 

Two years ago he awoke with a cold sweat and horrible visions behind his eyes. Death spread through him quickly, an ever-constant reminder of the vow he took when Caria had spared his life. Riordan, that Orlesian had warned him he would not last as long as the others, that his Calling would likely come first. Loghain had scoffed, never one to trust an Orlesian. 

He had been sitting by the cooling firelight for hours, blank sheet of parchment and nibbled down quill sitting between his teeth. He had so many things he wanted to tell her, but no way to start. They had never laid any claims on one another and yet, every night she crawled into his bed. 

Caria Aeducan had spared his life, looked beyond his traitorous actions and made him a Warden. Even if she had hoped he would die during the Joining, or after, when they faced down the Archdemon, she never let it show. Her companions had ignored him for the most part, only occasionally providing digs and eyes that cut like daggers. 

How could he tell her that it had meant so much to him? How could he tell her that he did betray Ferelden and she made a mistake in saving him? He had never been worth it. Not to Rowan, a tool to Maric and a joke to Katriel. Even his own daughter did not write him anymore. All he had left in Thedas was Caria. And he would leave, alone and without her. 

He slammed a fist into his desk, knowing that Nathaniel would still be here when he was not. The boy who craves her attention as though it were air would fill the hole left by him in an instant. He had always noticed the way the boy trailed after her, whelp eyes and wistful glances. And lately, Caria had been returning them. Loghain rubbed hands over his eyes; it was his fault, leaving her alone as of late and sleeping by himself in his study.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever feel like Dragon Age should have been a soap opera?

Thirteen. Anders closed his eyes. Thirteen years old. He opened them again. Was he blond? Did he have her shocking red hair? Thirteen years ago Cullen had come to him and told him she had bore a son. That the child was to be taken from the Tower and they were to never even think on him again. He would be a man soon. Did his family raise him well? Was he a mage like his parents? Did he suffer the Tower's atrocities or live secretly among the mundanes? 

Anders dreamed about him. It was always the same; Cullen walking down the hall, the sound of his metal boots clanging on the stone. His tired eyes, spattered blood on his hands and Cullen had rubbed at his temples as though he were losing a child and not Anders. Jowan had sat with him outside Avile's door and they had listened. She had screamed, pleaded and sobbed. And when all had gone quiet, Wynne had ushered them back to Irving's office. The old man was attending as well, the risks overwhelming for a mage and her babe. 

And now the boy he never got to see, never had a chance to name was thirteen and none the wiser of the foolish children that had brought him into the world. He thought of Avile, the little girl she had been and the Hero she had become. He wondered if she remembered this day as well, she probably did -- the hours that had lapsed into days, pushing, pushing and pushing until her small elven body threatened to give way. 

"Anders?" Lorena's voice rocked Anders from his reverie and brought feeling back into his legs. He stood from his desk, leaving his hands on the edge until his knuckles returned to a normal color. Thankfully, today, Justice had remained silent. He had not on the boy's previous birthdays, always chiding him for mistakes and for dragging Avile -- the good Hero as the spirit liked to say -- down his wretched path. 

"Hello love." He moved to her side, pulling at her hands and wrapping them around his neck. She fell into his kiss as he dragged her back, beyond the curtain divide between his private room and the rest of his clinic. She had not been able to see him for nearly an entire week and the lack of her had been an acute grating on his nerves. 

"You're not busy are you?" She backed from him, letting her fingers scratch in his hair and looking at him lips parted and red, eyes lidded and that virulent green shining behind her fringe. 

He does not answer her in words, grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his waist. He places her gently on the small desk, careful not to let the splinters bother her perfect skin. He moves hair from her eyes and kisses her again, his eyes closing once again. But instead of visions playfully dancing over what he would do with her next, Avile was there, screaming and sobbing. The sound of blood on the floor, a baby's small cry and Cullen looking at him as though he would want nothing more than to cut him down. 

"Anders ..." He moves with such urgency, clawing at her thin summer robes. Buttons fly across the room and she is speaking his name and he is not hearing her. All he hears is disappointment. All he hears is that he will never see his son. That his son will never know him or his mother. "Anders stop." She pushes at his chest and he responds with force, more than he meant and the small desk topples over. 

They are left, sprawled and panting and Anders can feel tears in his eyes. The boy is thirteen today. Thirteen years old and nearly a man. A man without his real father, without the knowledge of how much his parents would have loved him even if they did not love each other. Lorena's hands are prying at his to move from his eyes. But he does not want her to see, does not ever want her to know. It is not fair that he must keep this secret, but she would leave if she knew. She would never look at him again. 

Lorena Hawke valued family above all else in this world, including himself. His son was family, and she would see Avile as family too. What he had done, fleeing the Circle and later the Wardens would be seen as abandonment in her eyes. She would hate him for it and so he could never tell her. The thought of hiding this from her, along with a myriad of other things made him feel sick. He loved her, more than anything and yet he lied to her in every breath. 

"What's wrong Anders? You're different today. Somewhere else." She scanned the floor for her missing buttons as he sat up slowly. A little boy with flaming red hair and brown eyes still painting his sights. 

"He is thirteen today." He laughed despite himself, the words just tumbling out of his mouth. He would curse Justice if he knew the spirit had controlled this admission, but he knew it was his own damnable love for the indomitable Lorena Hawke that had made him speak at all. 

"Who is?" She had found three of the four and was shoving them in her pockets when she faced him. He could not look at her. 

"My son."

"Your what?"

"My son. He is thirteen today." It was too late now, he was already speaking, wanting to tell her everything. He could take her leaving if she knew the truth. He could even stand it if she never spoke to him again, the lie too set in his bones. 

"You ... you have a son?" Her hands shook and the little lost buttons clattered to the dusty dirt floor. She stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape, the shock of his statement ringing clearly in her head. 

"I do. I have never seen him, but yes I have a son." He stood, shaking his hair from his tie and letting the locks fall onto his face. Better to be seen askew lest she see how much it really ate at his mind. "I was young, and so was she. We were stupid and ..."

"Anders –"

"No, I have to tell you this. Even if it makes you hate me." He grabbed for her hands, thankful when she did not pull them away. He sat her on his cot, sitting next to her and trying so desperately not to slouch. "If a child is born in the Circle, they take them away. They are given to the faithful not blessed with children and cursed to never know where they truly came from."

"Did you love her?"

"No." He did love Avile, but not the way Lorena had asked. She was his friend, his sister-in-arms but never anything more than a distraction. And she had felt the same way -- it was commonplace for those confined to the Circle. 

"What happened to her?" 

"She ... she is the Hero of Ferelden." 

Lorena began to laugh, her fail safe in uncomfortable situations. Anders watched as she clutched her sides and then her face, laughter quickly turning over to tears. But she did not run away from him. Instead she bowed her head and let his hands fall onto it. He held her, listened to her sob softly into his robes and he shuddered, the thought of his son still plaguing his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel it should be noted that most of this was written while highly intoxicated. Forgive the cheese now & henceforth.

Avile ran her hands over the small leather pouch. It unfurled to reveal a variety of tools and small knives, the first gift Zevran had ever given her. She crafted every potion and tincture with these tools and though she suspected time would not be her friend in Kirkwall, she could not bear the thought of the small pouch not making the journey with her. 

She had found the small set after he died. His things had sat untouched in the corner of the borrowed room of Eamon's estate. She would have left it if her mind had permitted, but the smell of it haunted her steps every time she tried to leave the room. Finally, curiosity had taken over and she rifled through his pack. 

Clothing, a whet stone, a few potions and balms -- all her own mixtures, of course -- and the small leather pouch at the bottom. It was tied with a ribbon and a small card dangled from its leather tie. Her hands shook as she carefully removed it, placing it gingerly on her desk. 

_'Avile --'_ the note began, _'Please stop using my lockpicks and probes for slicing up your plants.'_ She laughed -- How many times had he chided her for denting his tools? Too many. _'Always, Zev'_. He had not had a chance to give this to her, to watch as she smiled and snorted through her nose. He always nuzzled her neck when she laughed, standing the small hairs on end with his heated breath.

She clutched the now-worn pouch to her chest, she swallowed back a sob as her fingers tangled in the leather ties. They were fraying on the ends, a thousand times she had wrapped and unwrapped her tools with such care and still the ties frayed. Antivan leather, for its rich smell and soft texture, did not hold up in Ferelden weather. But the steel and dragonbone tools were just as though they had never been used. 

With care she placed the pouch in the bottom of her bag, placing her mortar & pestle on top. She would have three weeks aboard a ship to prepare -- Zevran's recipes stowed in her breast pocket for safekeeping. When she found Taliesin, she would poison him and rend him with her magic. She would plunge a knife in his throat, just as he had done to Zevran. There would be no one to mourn his loss, no one that would actively seek retribution against her for his death. She had earned this and she would not give up until he lay dead at her feet. 

She understood Caria's determination in that very moment when the moon lazily hung in the sky and crickets chirped for miles in the green Amaranthine hills. His death had motivated Avile and thrown her from childish games with fury and wrath. She had been born the night his blood had covered her. This one thought, one moment all she could consider. 

She slung her bags over her shoulder, careful not to disturb the wooden box of small vials that were tucked away as carefully as her tools. She could level an entire city with the contents of her bags and with the flick of her wrist, but it was all intended for one man and one alone. 

There was only one more thing for her to do, one more lie to tell. She kept her breathing even as she walked the low-lit corridors. Caria's door was open a crack and through that poured out the soft glow of a fading fire. Avile had known her dwarven friend would still be awake; she was long convinced Caria had stopped sleeping years ago, likely finding the action to be a wasteful use of her precious time. 

_Knock, Knock_ \-- "Caria?" 

Caria sat hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously and muttering slightly. She always read aloud when she was alone in her offices, or so when she thought she was alone. Avile smirked knowing the many times she found Nathaniel lingering outside the door, pacing and cursing himself a fool. 

"Yes Avile?" She did not look up as she spoke and did not break stride save to dip her quill in the molten black ink. 

"I just wanted to tell you I am going to Denerim. I'll be back in a few weeks." 

Caria looked at Avile, then to the night outside her window and back to Avile. 

"It's the middle of the night."

"Yes, well, I am taking a carriage instead of a horse. I figure it would take less time if I leave overnight instead of in the morning when the roads will be packed with annoying merchants." Avile leaned in the doorjamb, waiting for Caria to see through her like she always did. 

Instead, Caria leaned back and brought out a bottle of fine wine, pouring it in two tumblers and motioning for Avile to join her. Things had been quiet of late in the Keep, a calm before the storm as Caria kept calling it. Whatever she meant, she did not share and Avile was sure the dwarf had no idea what was coming herself. 

"So, Alistair have you on another hunt in the wee hours?" Caria smirked into her glass and Avile narrowed her eyes. So Caria would play into her scheme? She would not question the strange travel plans? Avile thanked the Maker silently for small favors and let the gears in her head churn over her ruse. 

"Of course. Those noblemen and their hunts. They have stopped caring I am a lady."

"Pfft, you a lady! I would like to see that."

"Hey, hey there Miss-I-Never-Wear-A-Dress. It's a wonder you're not mistaken for a man every time."

The women laughed and sipped slowly on their wine. It was an Orlesian blend, no doubt Caria socked it far under her undergarments to keep Loghain from seeing such blasphemy. For all their pretentious airings, the Orlesians knew wine if nothing else. 

"You said a few weeks?"

"Yes, seems my darling presence is needed for some new trade talks with Nevarra. They do not respect Alistair; he's never killed a dragon you see."

"Sounds dreadful."

"I am sure I will be bored sick."

They finished their wine while discussing the finer points of Alistair's eating habits and the many hat shops that had suddenly sprouted up in Denerim's bustling market. Avile nearly felt guilty for lying to Caria, though she was sure that lately the dwarf had been keeping secrets of her own. Notes dropping in seemingly from thin air that always caused a crease in Caria's brow. Bad news from the Carta, no doubt, Avile's own informants reporting on the new movements of the dwarven thieves guild. 

"Well, have a safe trip. I will not miss you." Caria stood, pulling Avile into a rare hug. 

"Liar." 

The elf relaxed her limbs onto Caria, nearly knocking them both in a tangle onto the floor. The pair laughed again and Avile shouldered her pack once more, nodding a little as she left. Caria, for her sake, did not watch Avile go, instead turning back to her paperwork with renewed vigor.


	5. Chapter 5

Loghain had just finished loading his saddlebags with his supplies when he heard the small cough behind him. He turned slowly to see Avile leaned on the wall and smirking a cat's knowing grin. 

"Where are you going so late old man?"

"I could say the same for you, maleficar."

"Oh, ouch, _I am so hurt._ " The mage held the back of her hand to her forehead and sniffled dramatically.

"It is none of your concern."

"Oh? Does Caria know you're leaving like a thief in the night?" 

"She does not."

"Well now, the plot thickens." 

"And you, mage? Your bags are packed as well."

"I am going to Denerim."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Taking a carriage old man, you know I hate those traveling merchants. Always with the 'SAVE ME, SAVE ME!' And besides, Caria knows where I am going. She is still awake you know."

"I know."

"Then why are you here, leaving? Shouldn’t you be making sure she gets to sleep?"

"As I said, it is none of your concern." He emphasized his last word by clamoring atop his horse and snorting in her general direction. He looked down, nearly nauseous that he would actually miss the simpering little mage. She had become, almost, like Anora -- her pretentious air, her aversion to dirt and even the way she smiled -- all full of teeth and still a little girl trapped in a woman's body. 

"Loghain." She called up to his perch, a sudden seriousness in her muddy green eyes. 

"What, mage." He leaned down, sneering at her as he did every time he pulled her out of harm's way on the field. 

"It's your time, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to Orzammar."

His heart sunk in his chest. Had the marks crawled to show on his neck? Had the taint spread even further? 

"I am."

"I'm sorry."

"You never wanted me to be a Warden anyway. It should please you that I am off to die."

"Why would you think that?"

"You have always made it clear what you thought of me, mage."

"Yes, you may be The Betrayer, but you are still my brother."

"Oh thank you, a thousand times, thank you."

"Did you tell her?"

"No."

"It will break her heart."

"Hers was never mine to break."

"That's stupid." Tears pushed from the little mage's eyes for her friend who would be incapable. 

"Give her this, would you?" He had not intended to ever give her his final letter, but the sight of the little mage crying like she had skinned her knees made him forget his stalwart stubbornness for a moment. He waited for her to look at him wide-eyed and curious before she took the note, fingers gracing over the long-forgotten Mac Tir seal. 

He ruffled her hair, desperate to see his own daughter and to have the courage to tell Caria. His time had come, just as she had said it would. The Joining has its risks, but so does being a Warden. 

If we do not die by the hands of the darkspawn then so will the Taint take us in a single breath.


	6. Chapter 6

The little boy bounded from the clinic swinging from his mother's arm. Amazing, Lorena thought. The boy had been brought in unconscious, fever rash covering his little body. Lorena had kept the mother at bay while Anders brought the boy back to the realm of the living. The mother had said the little boy, Aaron, had been sick for days and finally this morning he had not woken up. Such was the plight of the impoverished and refugees. 

Anders had set to work on cleaning up while she watched mother & son bound away relieved and happy despite dank & dusty Darktown. She unconsciously thought of Anders just a few weeks ago, finding him disheveled in his clinic, out of sorts and confessing out of the blue about his own son. It made her stomach clench into knots, the thought of him with someone else. 

Of course, he had been so young, too young to be a father. And she had no right to feel any jealousy over what Anders had done in his past. Still, the Hero of Ferelden? It was funny how small Thedas truly was and she wondered what it had been like when he found the Wardens in Amaranthine. 

"Lorena? Could you hand me that rag?" He let the water pour over his hands, blood stuck under his nails. She helped him, scrubbing the cuticles in a way he could not as one person. He may dwell in the dirt but he sure as the Maker was holy did not need to look it. 

He watched her as she stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth, furiously scrubbing at his hands. She was beautiful despite the fine sheen of sweat that spotted her brow, despite the slick smell of grime that clung to her skin. It was Lorena, after all, and Anders loved her, would always love her. But she was hiding something from him. He was not positive, but there was something that had been nibbling at her thoughts, something that could not be quashed. 

"What do you mean I can't see him?" A shrill voice stopped Anders as he leaned in to kiss her, the longing still so present in his eyes, just as it had been the day he had kissed her first. He bore a scowl as he turned toward the sound. 

"Miss, please! He is with a patient --"

"A patient? But you said I could not see him. That implies that he does not wish to see me, and I know, for a fact, that is not the case. But, if he is indeed with a ... patient, as you say ... then I will wait." The high-pitched voice matched an oof that seemed to sit down, clicking of heels and all.

Anders had hold of Lorena's waist and made no movement even when she squirmed to get free. Instead he stood frozen in fear at the dull tone humming now coming beyond their privacy curtain. 

"You should probably go out there."

"No I should not." He nuzzled into her neck, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile hope that the whirlwind that just wandered into his clinic would wander right back out. 

"It seems like it might be important. You never get visitors."

"It's not. I swear to you, it's not important and that is no visitor. That is a harpy."

"So has Anders been here long? It's so ... filthy." The squeaky voice spoke again, louder than a normal tone and almost bubbly, laden with sugar.

"Yes, miss. He helps those who cannot afford proper care."  
"That makes me want to puke. Slightly, damn woman, no need to look at me like I choked your mouser."

"Messere Anders is a good man. He asks for nothing in return for his good deeds."

Anders and Lorena listened to the cackle that erupted from the squeaky-shrill voice. Anders shook his head and Lorena jumped her sights to him and the curtain, wondering if he would let her go and deal with whatever crazy person awaited him. 

"Mrs. Potterly may start murdering any moment Anders. You really should --"

"No, I really shouldn't Lorena. I am going to stay right here and never, ever leave." He ducked his head, skimming his stubble across her collarbone, inhaling her heady scent. Her eyes instinctively shut to his ministrations, all focus slowly draining from her ears. 

"Anders, really!" She had not meant to shout, but the pinch to her bottom shocked her back into reality. He made a motion for her to shush, but the damage had already been done. Their privacy curtain was thrust aside, letting in the sight of a grumbling Mrs. Potterly and a rather tiny elf with impossibly long, impossibly red hair. 

"Well well, whatever do we have here? Some new healing magic that involves tongues and wandering hands?" Lorena removed herself from Anders, a doe caught in a hunter's sights as the little redhead crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't look as though I am your death Anders. I've not come to take you back."


	7. Chapter 7

"Avile. What ... What are you doing here?" Anders still grasped for Lorena as she slunk away in front of their new audience. 

"Well that's not very nice is it? I haven't seen hide nor tail of you in six years and all I get is 'what are you doing here?' You sound like Caria." The little redhead ran fingers over surfaces and made her way toward Anders. She had huge teeth, Lorena noted and overly large eyes the color of swamp mud. Her ears stuck beyond the thick mottle of red curls that hung well past her hips and the left ear was coated in gold. She wore clamps and jewels on the one side as though it should weigh her down.

"It's a surprise is all. I didn't expect you --"

"You would not because I did not write. In fact, I didn't even know you were here until Orsino told me."

"You went to the Gallows? Avile ... That was incredibly foolish."

"Oh you think I am unaware of your troubles here? Word spreads fast, you know."

"I don't think you grasp the kind of trouble you could get into here."

"No different than usual I expect. Besides, I am not here to dabble in your troubles with the bloody Chantry."

Avile stood in front of Anders, cheeks puffed with air and a sour crease in her brow. Lorena watched the exchange and thought of Carver. She used to wear the same look when he did something daft and true to par. Anders rubbed at his temples groaning like he had been woken a touch too early.

"Why are you here? Did Caria send you?"

"Business and no, she did not. I am here of my own accord."

"You came alone?"

"Had the old man for a bit, we parted ways though." 

"Loghain? Why didn't he come with you?"

"He had other things to attend to Anders. It was ... time." 

"Oh." Anders and the little redhead shared a stern look and each shouldered a click in their shoulders. Lorena suddenly felt pushed from the room and flat on her ass. Something between them had sparked and she was all the sudden an outsider. 

"Well. He was a good man."

"No he wasn't. But he was a good sword and he kept his word."

"That makes him a good man."

"No, that makes him a repentant man. But this is rather depressing, isn't it? Six years and you're not dead!"

"I could say the same for you. What are you doing here, really I mean? You hate boats."

"I have business, as I said, but we can discuss that later." It had seemed an eternity before the redhead let her sights fall on Lorena. She had been nearly out the door, carefully avoiding Anders pleading eyes for her to stay. "And who is your, ah, friend? or is she really a patient and I just missed all the good classes on healing."

"Ah yes, this is Lorena Hawke. Lorena, this is Avile Surana."

"A pleasure, I am sure." Avile extended her hand and Lorena held her jaw from falling onto the floor. She did not move to shake the little redhead's hand, instead choosing to gawk.

"You're Avile Surana? The Hero of Ferelden?" Many things danced through Lorena's mind. Lothering, Anders' son, the Blight, Bethany ... And all were manifested in the form of a smiling caricature of an elf. The rumors kept her a woman and a mage, but the truth of it ended there. In legend, she was seven feet tall and lightning constantly poured from her hands, like molten droplets made of the sky. She breathed fire and spat poison blood on her enemies and they all fell in unison at her feet. Reality was much different – an elf, wild red curls, over large eyes and teeth and a body much too thin. 

"Last I checked, anyway. And pardon me for saying so, but you are quite rude not to take a hand offered." 

Avile clasped her own hands behind her back and a small vein on her forehead began to pulse. She already had a horrible impression of the woman; keeping her precious Anders hiding in a dusty clinic, looking at her as though Avile would turn abomination any moment and then the audacity to look at her as though she were a liar. She would click her tongue at Anders later and Lorena was no Caria. Surely not one to trifle with, but Avile had fried bigger fish with her little finger. No, this one would be a fly in the ointment and nothing more.  
"Avile, this is the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Oh, you mean the Qunari Slayer. Caria really hates stories about her." Avile was not impressed. Sure, she may have taken down an Arishok -- which Caria had nearly whimpered when she read the letter aloud -- but what was that compared to a horde of darkspawn, an archdemon and the veritable host of beasties she and Caria had overcome? No, this was a small pyre burning in a field of pyres, no different from the next. And Avile had no bloody idea what an Arishok was anyway.

"Well Anders, I should be going, hm?" Lorena seemed fit to burst, Anders noted. Her ears were burning a searing red and her eyes glittered for the weight of her staff and a properly armored robe. He felt his stomach clench into knots, somehow, someway this would be his fault. Caria and Lorena were two of a kind in that they each blamed Anders for all their woes. The only difference with Lorena is she might actually be joking. "And Hero, I would love if you came to my estate for dinner sometime soon. We hardly get guests in the city, especially from back home."

"Oh, you're from the Tower? I don't remember you."

"No, I was ... I am from Lothering. On the borders of the Kocari."

"Ah, I see. An outsider then."

"Avile --"

"I meant no disrespect Anders, Andraste's knickers you get so upset for nothing, I swear. I would be honored to come for dinner Champion. I have been known to never refuse a proper meal."

"Wonderful, Anders, you will bring your friend along later then I assume?"

"Yes, Lorena."

"Good, see you both later then." Lorena spoke through clenched teeth and her fingers were desperate to stay wrapped in a fist as she motioned to wave goodbye. The stench of Darktown was welcome to whatever it was she just escaped from. She felt as though she would see red, sob and fall to her knees. The Hero would have been dead if it had not been for Anders, or at least left with a broken nose. But, again, Lorena was no fool and had no designs on starting a war with Ferelden on Kirkwall's behalf. And certainly not a war with the Wardens to boot. She would be better off to put her own head on a pike and call it a day.


	8. Chapter 8

He heard her come through the Chantry. It was unmistakable, always with the slamming of the heavy oak doors and plodding up in soft slippers that sound like heavy plate. And sure enough, just as he set down his quills and looked up did he see Lorena Hawke leaning in his study door. 

"Lorena. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sebastian stood, moving over to her and taking in the smell that was purely Hawke. It surrounded him, filled the room. She smelled like clean despite the sweat and spots of grime on her face. Her hair was matted slick and the waves of ginger red hung lazily down her back. She looked exhausted; no doubt another day helping that simpering abomination.

"Didn't feel like going home just yet. Are you free this evening?" She plopped down in an overstuffed chair, complete with embroidered daisies set in the cushions. 

"I am. Should I bring along my bow?"

"Maybe, though it's just dinner." 

Sebastian's heart flipped in his chest. She was smiling, showing all her teeth and dangling her short legs from the chair. She seemed ready to pounce, however, and not in a way that he had spent many nights dreaming over. This was a Lorena he had seen more times than he could count, one ready to fight and claw and make her way to the top of the bones. 

"I would be delighted, of course. Is there an occasion?" He leaned back on his desk, letting his fingers trail over the smooth wood. She watched his hands, perfectly his intent as he continued the slow ministration of his hands. 

"You could say that," Lorena chuckled, "The Hero of Ferelden is coming by." Sebastian's hand slipped from the desk and he nearly toppled onto the floor. Lorena laughed again, standing and flinging her arms back in a stretch. "Yes, apparently she is a friend of Anders and just arrived in Kirkwall."

"Well that is certainly interesting. The friends you keep Lorena ..."

Sebastian shook his head, a lock of hair falling between his eyes. He watched as she moved forward, long delicate fingers moving to push the errant hair out of the way. He grabbed her wrist, slowly letting his fingers wrap around the small joint. She was already so close to him, eyes lidded and lips parted, he would simply have to move --

His mouth fell upon hers, breathing in the smell of her. Fresh snow and berries, a hot wind on a summer day and sand untouched by human hands. Her hands went to his shoulders, nails digging in through the soft cloth of his tunic. He could feel the heat pouring from her in waves, the calm of it washing over him and plucking the thought of the abomination from his head. 

He could have stayed that way for hours, raining kisses onto her lips and jaw. To have felt her bite into his flesh and lick the wound, it was what kept him up more often than not. That and the knowledge of someone much luckier and far too dangerous has been able to enjoy. 

But he pulled away, his restraint becoming less and less a burden every day. It was becoming easier to justify touching her, kissing her, holding her. It was becoming easier to let his mind wander in his daily tasks to her. What was she doing? Was she happy? Did she have him with her? Was she going to come and see him sooner rather than later? 

She looked at him as their kiss broke and her chest heaved slightly. A blush covered her neck and cheeks, the reddish tint traveling all the way to her ears. He smiled for her, running a hand over her face. 

"I will be there, Lorena." He placed his hands on her shoulders, backing her away from him slightly. "But you, I am sure, have much to do." He poked her nose and motioned for her to go. It would do no well to continue with a Chantry full of sisters and patrons, even if the risk of being caught had its appeal.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious yet that I really like to write dialogue?

" _Yes Lorena?_ " Avile and Anders waited until Lorena had vacated the clinic in haste. "Is she your nursemaid?" The little mage smirked.

"Must you always be so disrespectful?"

"You're one to say such things. Did you think I did not hear you saying it was not important to come out of your hiding place to see me?" Avile crossed her arms, facing Anders defiantly -- her best impression of Eyual, he was sure. “Did I hear right -- I am no visitor, I am a harpy?” 

"Of course you heard, your ears are ENORMOUS." He gestured wildly and narrowly avoided a playful slap. Despite his moment ruined by the hellish storm that was Avile Surana, he was glad to see his friend. It had been too long and he had not realized he even missed her until she stood before him. 

"So, Lorena Hawke, eh? Champion of Kirkwall. You really like your titled ladies, don't you?"

"Oh please, I am not with her for her title."

"But you are with her?"

"I ... Yes. Yes I am."

"How quaint."

"Save it, please."

"I won't say another word if you buy me a drink. Can't go into a noble's estate without a good layer of alcohol making my head buzz." 

"Lorena is hardly like any noble back home 'Vi. She's ... different."

"And you have no idea how many noble houses I am forced to visit."

"And believe me when I tell you she is different."

"Can I wear a dressing gown and no shoes?"

"No."

"Then she is no different than the others." 

"Can't you be nice?"  
"Me, nice? Of course I can be nice. Will I though, that's the real question you're asking isn't it?" 

"Avile ... Can you just ... please, not today."

"You have such little faith in me. As it is, I need someone to take me to the Wounded Coast. I expect that she is the one I need to go to for such favors, hmm?"

"She would be, yes. Why do you need to go to the Coast?"

"Business, as I said. But that is for later."

"Warden business?"

"No, it's personal and I shall tell you all about it later. All I can think about is food now."

"All you ever think about is food."

"And wine."

"And templars."

"Shove it you dolt."

Avile nudged Anders in the shoulder, knocking an air of old into his eyes. He seemed like the man she knew before Justice, before she had another one of her brilliant ideas. She could tell when she came in that it had not been an easy time away from Amaranthine. The dark circles, the hoarse voice and slight tremble in his hands were a sign of the struggle growing stronger every day. 

"Right, right, I know how this goes. Come on, I'll take you to a tavern."

"You're buying?"

"No, you're the one with the fat purse. I'm just a poor doctor."


	10. Chapter 10

Isabela leaned against her corner of the bar, paying a small amount of attention to the Antivan bard that had come looking for richer coin. Bards in Antiva, just as in Orlais, are a copper a dozen. The man was handsome save for the lack of teeth in the front and his voice hung high in the din of the Hanged Man. Her eyes were not watching him, however, but the hooded & masked figure in the corner of the tavern, his sights solely on her. 

She watched without watching as he drank slowly -- wine and not the swill ale Corff was so fond of giving the travelers and vagabonds. But this man did not seem a sort like them, he was different. Despite his casual lean, intended to throw the ruse that he was drunk was all too practiced. And the way he watched her, gleaming whiskey brown eyes barely uncovered by his black mask. Yes, Isabela was sure a ghost had just wandered into her tavern. 

She downed her mug in an instant, taking her gloved hand to wipe away the dribble. She smiled, knowing he was watching her, knowing he knew she had seen him. She tossed a few coppers on the bar, standing carefully. Varric was with Merrill nearest the Antivan bard and Fenris was deep in conversation with Donnic, Mr. Lady-Man-Hands. No one would disturb them. 

He set down his glass with care, his hands more scarred than she remembered. He folded his fingers together as she made her way toward him, gingerly sitting across from him. For a moment, they did not deign to speak, the pair just staring at each other. Isabela smirked, motioning for another ale and another glass of wine for her friend. 

"A friend of yours?" Isabela tipped her head toward the bard, who had watched her make her way to the darkened table. 

"My best lieutenant." 

"I've heard there are rats in the city. Come to run them out?" 

"One rat. One very large rat, actually." 

"And one little bird that docked two days ago, yes?" 

Zevran dropped back his hood. Where his facial markings once were now dwelt a long scar. It twisted and curved into a mottled gray that delved beneath his collar and part of his ear was missing. Six years was a long time, Isabela knew that more than anyone else.   
"Does she know?"

"No."

"Foolish."

"Aye, yes, I am indeed."

"She will come here, you know this. She will come and ask for my help."

"And you will help her."

"I will? Is that so."

"Yes, you will help her and make sure she goes back to Amaranthine when it is done."

"And what do I get out of this?"

"My thanks."

"And your thanks means what to me?"

Zevran looked at the pirate for a long while, knowing she would do as he asked. She was always stubborn and it was one of the many reasons he had loved her once. And knowing her as well as he did, he used his foot to smack hers with the gift he had brought. 

"What's this?"

"A gift."

"Oh is it shiny?"

Isabela leaned down carefully, running her hands on the intricate carvings that covered the blackened wood box. Lifting the golden levers revealed a round ball of cloth and a smell that she recognized all too well. Pushing aside the gray cloth covering revealed a head, Castillion's head to be precise, gilded dagger still stuck in his cheek. Her eyes lit at the sight and she shut the lid, smiling her kitten smile for the man across from her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know that Isabela spends most of her time penning smut.

The sun had just begun to set when Avile and Anders finally made their way out from the Undercity. No sooner had he agreed to take her to the Hanged Man had three young Coterie come in with perilous wounds. He had forgotten what Avile was like when she healed, fast and quick hands that dug into herbs without fear of poison or rash. She had always had an affinity for the alchemical, and her services and bottomless pack of vials and clippings had been a welcome relief on his magic. 

The mages cleaned up in silence, Anders scrubbing his hands for what felt like the ninetieth time and Avile packed away her collection of now-empty vials. He watched her from the corner of his eye, the crestfallen turn in her lips and the furrow in her brow did not match the way she had spoken or been since she arrived. 

"Why did you come to Kirkwall?" Anders spoke softly as the soap slipped from his hands. 

"Business."

"So you have said."

Avile sighed, looking through her fringe at him with the furrow running deeper in her brow. 

"I'm looking for someone."

"Looking?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Someone who stole something from me."

"That's terribly specific."

Avile stood quickly, pushing her hair back from her eyes. She stared at him, daring him to speak now that she was crying again. She had sworn she would not, that she would hold it together until the end. But Anders had to push -- he always pushed. She felt the air leave her lungs, the tightness in her chest spreading. At the mere thought she was thrust back into that dank alley, sun beating down and Taliesin's poison spewing from his lips. 

"Oh Avile ..."

"No. Don't. Please, just leave it, all right?" 

And so he did, even when they were accosted by beggars and nearly taken down by the same Coterie they had just saved. The flooding of ice had coated the Undercity in a fine sheen spotted with thieves' blood. He had nearly forgotten what a terror she was on the field. Despite her proclivities and the endless chiding of Caria, Avile could hold her own right along side the dwarf. 

They now stood before the tavern, a night wind blowing their robes around their feet. Avile sucked in a sharp breath before winking and pushing through the heavy doors. The crowd was thicker than usual as they sidled up to the counter, Avile nearly pushing over a tall man with a thick ale-soaked mustache. She smiled at him before he could raise a hand and he ducked away from the gleam in her eyes. 

"Would you look at that Rivaini. Blondie's come out of his hole." Varric had seen Anders walk in, look around hopefully and then guide a small elven woman to the bar. Varric mimicked Anders, searching for Hawke and finding none. Strange that he should be away from his clinic and without Lorena. 

Anders turned and Avile made a squeak when her eyes fell onto the pirate. She set down her mug and jumped, attaching herself to Isabela's neck. 

"Isabela!" 

"Little Red!" 

The two spun in a circle and Isabela plopped the mage down. 

"What are you doing here?" Isabela asked, careful to check her peripheral; Zevran had already gone upstairs, most likely the moment Avile had opened the door. She pulled the little mage into another hug that lifted her off her feet. "It doesn't matter. Your hair got long."

"It did, it did. Did you get my last letter?"

"And the pouch of sovereigns." Isabela curled a finger in Avile's hair, her large muddy green eyes staring at her expectantly. Avile had always reminded Isabela of this mutt she had in Antiva. Stupid as a rock but loyal and fierce to a fault. But he was cute and so was Avile. 

"Good. I have some stories too, good ones for the next book."

"Splendid! Come darling," Isabela looped Avile's arm into the crook of her own and lead her to a small table where Anders had already retreated with Varric. "Let us catch up, it's been too long."


	12. A Small Aside

"Everything is ready Mistress." Orana bustled around the formal dining room, plates and foodstuffs now covering the surface. 

"The Hero of Ferelden, eh?" Bodahn was polishing the last of the silver when he spoke. "I remember her. Loud one, lots of hair and a sweet smile."

"You traveled with the Wardens, didn't you Bodahn?" Hawke spoke as she finished reading the latest letter from Carver. It seemed things were dull in the Gallows. Lorena thought that hilarious considering the seams of the city were fit to split. 

"I did indeed my lady. Little Avile was no Hero then, just a girl fresh from her Tower. Sad thing really, what happened."

"What happened?" Lorena looked up, moving her half-moon spectacles to the top of her head. 

"Oh my stars, she had a lover she did. Died in her arms just before the siege." Bodahn sighed. "He was nice chap, all the way from Antiva. Used to find my boy all sorts of trinkets."

"Oh."

"Yes, a very sad story, I might say. They were very much in love. She was never the same after."  
"How did he die?"

"He was a Crow, you see. He was tasked to kill the Wardens, but they tromped him. Then he took up their banners. His guildmen did not like that, I should think. They came for him and killed him." Bodahn sighed again, taking a thumb to his eye. "Such a nice man he was. Such a shame."

"Oh." Lorena sighed along with Bodahn this time, the two going back to their respective tasks.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avile Surana: A Terrible Party Guest

"Welcome my lady, messere." Anders and Avile were the first to arrive, followed shortly after by Varric, Isabela and Merrill. 

"What a splendid home you have Champion."

"Please, you may call me Lorena. I really hate titles." 

"Not me. I happen to like all of mine." They sat in the study, unable to start dinner until everyone else arrived. Lorena felt nervous watching Avile move through her books, fingers running over bindings and curious small hands fondling trinkets. "It's all very funny really. An elf, a mage, the lowest of the low and yet, I carry three titles that outrank most of my countrymen." Avile smiled a wolfish smile over her shoulder.

"You see Lorena, Avile is pompous." Anders spoke, not willing to let Avile make Lorena anymore uncomfortable than she appeared. And besides, he could see his friend was tightly wound, the weight of whatever business she had wearing her thin. 

"Maybe I am." 

"You are very lucky Avile." Merrill smiled, cupping her face in her hands. "You did a lot for our people." The little elf spoke softly, the admiration crooning from her lips.

"I did what was required. I am sure the Lady Hawke would agree that it is all we can do."

"Indeed." 

The others came shortly after, Fenris and Donnic still discussing the best whetstones, Aveline following close behind, nodding in agreement with her husband. Sebastian was last to arrive and he was three drinks behind the rest. He arrived in the middle of a story being told by Anders and Avile, one that involved some manner of dragon beyond the Veil and a dwarf called Caria. 

Sebastian leaned into Lorena's ear as he sat, pressing his hand to the small of her back. 

"Is that her?"

"Who else would it be, see any other strangers?"

"She's an elf."

"She is."

"Can elves be Grey Wardens?"

"Apparently --"

"Yes, messere. In fact, the last Warden to bring down a Blight -- before me of course -- was an elf. He wasn't a mage, like me, but an elf nonetheless. In fact, there are more elves in the Wardens than humans, more dwarves than humans too." 

"Ah, Avile, this is Sebastian Vael, a brother in the Chantry. And Sebastian, please meet the Hero of Ferelden, Avile Surana."

"Vael, you say? Are you of the fallen house?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Your family name, Vael. Are you not of the royal line who was murdered a few years back?"

"I ... Yes, I am."

"And you are a brother?"

"I am. I have pledged myself to the Maker and his --"

"Right, sure you have." Avile smirked at Sebastian though her eyes were boring into Lorena. Had the little redhead noticed the way Sebastian had leaned into her? Most likely if the glint in her eyes said much at all. "Is there a ruler in Starkhaven? The Warden outpost there has not sent word in a long while."

"There is; my cousin, actually."

"Should it not be you?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I recall, you are Sebastian, the third son. What is it nobles say? 'The heir and a spare'? So that would make you the second spare, which explains why you dwell in the Chantry, but not now. Your family is dead. You should be on the throne."

"Do not presume to know me."

"I do not presume anything."

"You do."

"What? Of fact? That it seems to me you are hiding, stepping carefully on toes?" Lorena felt the heat of anger creep over her skin. Everyone had fallen silent and Avile still sat, face in hand, staring feral at Sebastian. Lorena watched as Avile shuddered slightly, no doubt a kick in the shins by someone at the table. Thank the Maker for her friends. 

"I have made vows to the Maker and to Andraste. They are not to be simply thrust aside because my apparent duty demands it."

"You are under the impression that you have choices, Brother." Avile took a long pull on her wine. "And Chantry vows often amount to little more than nothing when it comes down to it. You were given to the Chantry because you were in the way, yes? And now, whatever it was you were in the way of, is gone. Your family was murdered, yes? Likely down to the last child, last servant. You owe them. You owe your family, your house and your city to sit on that throne. You think your duty is to the Chantry? Your duty is to your house. You cannot shirk names, even if you want to."

"You speak so easily --" Sebastian grit his teeth and Lorena grabbed for his hand, it was clenched into a balled fist.

"Aye, I know a lot more of vows and duty than you think." 

"Well, that certainly was interesting!" Varric spoke, breaking the flaming staring Sebastian and Avile were playing into. Lorena had no doubt that Avile could kill him outright. And she knew she would be forced to defend him and she wasn't sure she really wanted to face the woman who brought down an archdemon. Not today, anyway.

\- - - - -

Once dinner had ended, most had retired back to their respective homes. Aveline and Donnic to the barracks, Isabela, Varric and Merrill back to the Hanged Man. After the discussion over dinner, Fenris had elected to safeguard Hawke's estate. He did not trust the Hero, he said, did not like the look of her or how she spoke. Anders and Sebastian were never ones to leave Lorena alone if the other was around, so they stayed as well. 

Everyone retired to the study and Avile produced a few bottles of Antivan wine. 

"I had been saving these. Figured they would come in handy, eventually."

"Antivan?" Anders remarked as he sipped the thick red liquid. 

"Of course."

"I prefer Orlesian wine, myself." Lorena spoke as she took a rather large gulp of the bitter brew.

"Ah, Orlesian wine -- as pretentious as their accents, I say." Avile raised a glass, and they all drank, giggling slightly over the strength of the wine. 

"Fenris here has an impressive collection of Tevinter spirits." Lorena spoke, offering to pour more for all the empty glasses. 

"Aggressio Pavali, one of the best wines I have ever tasted. Your magisters know their spirits better than spells, I dare say." Avile answered, the wine already showing on her face. 

"The magisters are to be feared." Fenris spoke in a low growl, swirling the heady Antivan wine in his glass. If looks could kill the Hero would be sprawled cold on the floor. 

"Of course. But even evil can have good taste in drink, would you not say?"

"Perhaps."

"Man of few words, hm?" Avile spoke to Anders, not to Fenris.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile ...

Caria stood stuck to the boards of the dock, the tremulous waters breaking under the planks and splashing up onto her feet. Nathaniel had stopped walking when she did, turning back with a question raised in his eyes. 

"Something the matter?"

"We are ... We are not traveling on land?" Caria looked up at the longboat, the sails unfurled and ready to catch the faintest wind. 

"It's the fastest way to the Free Marches. Unless you want to spend the next six months traveling through Orlais." He turned to begin his way up to the ship, but Caria stayed absolutely motionless on the docks. 

"I ... I would rather ..."

"What? Cut down any Orlesian you meet? Grumble all the way through a myriad of pretentiousness?" Nathaniel smiled, cocking a brow at the wide-eyed fear that was clear and present on her face. 

"I have never ..." Caria swallowed hard, letting her brows pinch together. "I have never been on a boat before." She spoke very quietly, though Nathaniel was sure he heard her right. 

"Never?"

"Well, the little ferry that takes you to the Circle. I have been on that boat. That is not anything like this. In the water, far away from land ... I do not like it Nathaniel. Let us go, come along, we shall go through Orlais." Caria turned, waiting for him to join her but instead he simply stood there, watching the fear glaze over her face. 

"It's just a boat. I promise, it's safe."

"You cannot promise that."

"I can, actually. Boats are very safe."

"What if there is a storm? Or ... Or something."

"Strong storms happen on land, too."

"But I cannot drown on land."

"Can you swim?"

Caria did not answer and she held her head high in indignation. 

"All right, all right." Nathaniel suppressed laughter at the sight of the blushing dwarf. He could not deny that this ... revelation was not positively adorable. He made his way to her, hands on his hips and leaning toward her face. "Do you want to yell at Avile?"

"Yes."

"Then you have to get on the boat."

"Can I hit her?"

"Depends."

"Without a yes, I shall stay right here." Caria sat down, crossing her feet under her knees and her arms over her chest. Nathaniel, this time, could not hold back from laughing. He dropped down to her, laughing and shaking from the sight. 

"Do not make me carry you."

"Do so and I will cut off your arms."

"I do not believe you." He smiled and grabbed her up, hastily making his way onto the ship, all the while she rained down blows on his chest and kicked at his legs.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I really enjoy writing dialogue.

Avile sat with Anders at the end of the table, heads ducked together and rushed hushed tones gracing their lips. Anders slammed a hand on the table and walked off, leaving Avile to hang her head. Lorena watched, hidden by a half-closed door and not a moment to move away when Anders burst through it. Little crackles of blue light were creeping up to his ears and his mouth pinched into a sour sneer. 

"Everything all right?" Lorena whispered and Anders whirled to face her. 

"No."

"What happened?"

"There is no talking to her."

"She is your friend." And the mother of your son, she bitterly thought. 

"She may be, but she is on a fool's errand. She will get herself killed and I'll not stand by and bloody watch."

"Come back and say that Anders! Live my life for a change instead of burying your face in bloody peasant sicknesses." Avile shouted, storming her way toward the pair. 

"You're an idiot Avile. Stupid and foolish. You should have stayed in Amaranthine." 

"I had no choice! None!"

"You can let this go."

"No, I very well cannot."

"He is dead Avile. He has been dead for years. Stop wasting your energies on this."

"Not until I find Taliesin!" Fenris had emerged to the base of the stairs, sleep still clinging and yet, ready to jump in should the Hero turn violent.

"He is likely already gone. You are wasting your time."

"I have to try."

"You have to go home. Go home before the templars find you or worse."

Avile surged toward him, glowing gold and a translucent fist poised above Anders' chest. She held back, threatening with the molten magic dripping from her fingers. 

"If I leave, I will take you with me. You ran from the Wardens, do not forget it. One word to Caria and you'll be brought back in irons."

"You wouldn't." Justice flashed across Anders' face.

"Ah, the spirit. Good to see you Justice."

"Lady Surana. Anders cannot go back to the Wardens."

"Then you convince him to help me."

"We cannot involve ourselves. It is detriment to our goals. You should go back to Ferelden. Kirkwall is too dangerous --"

"TALIESIN IS TOO DANGEROUS." Avile's fist connected with Anders' jaw, sending the fury of Justice out of his honey mead eyes. Anders clutched at his hair with trembling fingers, willing the spirit to stop its shouting. 

"Anders. Help me or don't. It does not matter but I will not leave until I have found him." She seemed suddenly tired as the golden, ethereal shroud faded. Fenris had made his way up the stairs in three steps to stand in front of Hawke.

"And what will you do if you do find him?"

"Kill him. I will kill him and leave him to rot. Just like he did to Zev."

"And when the Crows come for you?"

"I own them."

"What?"

"I have spent the past nine years gaining influence in Antiva. How do you think I was able to track Taliesin on my own? Caria would never help me with this."

"Then call upon them. Do not involve us in your revenge."

"I may own them, but Taliesin is still their brother. I have to kill him myself if I wish his life to end. They will not help me, and believe me, I have tried."

"Why, though. It has been so long."

"Why? You dare ask me why?" 

Anders knew the reasons, had spent far too long watching her sob and wail. He knew her better than he used to know himself, even better than Lorena. He glanced up at his lover, her eyes pained and feet stuck to the floor. And Avile shook atop him, her entire body reeling from sorrow and anger, the magic roiling through her skin. 

"I have to do this Anders. I have to find him. I have to make him pay for what he took from me."

Avile stood, brushing dust from her robes and breathing in deep breaths to slow the flow of ancient magics still pouring over her and him. She turned to Lorena, who watched as though she were ready to strike and run, all at once. 

"I am afraid I have a favor to ask of you Champion."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear Cullen, you poor soul.

_"Would you really have cut me down?" Her eyes were so wide, so innocent. Her hair hung in long curls, her little hands fumbled with the long sleeves she wore. They were too wide, too long, the hem always catching her feet and sending her stumbling._

_"It would have wracked my heart, but I would have done as duty dictates." He did not ever want to tell her this, he did not ever want to have to hurt her. She was like the stars in the sky; how many nights had he found her on the battlements when Irving sent him after her?_

_"Your heart?" He stammered. He had not meant to say that aloud._

_"Avile ... I mean, Miss Surana ... I-I ..."_

"Knight Captain?" Cullen blinked at the sunlight peaking through the folds of his tent. Dawn was coming over the hills and by the afternoon, he and his knights would be back in Kirkwall. Being away from the Gallows had brought on dreams -- dreams he had not had in many years. 

"Are the horses ready Ser Hawke?" Cullen faced the day with a hand shielding his eyes. On the coast, there was no proper shade to block the harsh dawn rays. 

"They are; we should be ready to move on within the hour." 

The pair moved around the camp, taking in the growing light on the edge of the horizon. It glittered on the water, blinding them both and making their tasks that much more difficult. It had been a long trek to Starkhaven; missives and mages to the new Circle. He thought of home, Ferelden, and the old battlements of Kinloch Hold. 

"Knight Captain --" He faced the boy, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. "I hate to ask, but ..." Ser Carver toyed with the canvas tent, rolling it slowly as Cullen teetered over him. 

"What is it?"

"You were ... You were speaking in your sleep, ser."

Carver Hawke had not had the best intentions when he joined the Order. It was not until he spent time training under the Knight Captain that he started to understand the reason templars were truly needed. He respected the man, felt a kinship both being Fereldan and his sister ... his sister respected him too. 

"Just a dream, do not trouble over it." Cullen stood back, stretching his arms and leaning down in the same motion to pick up his armor. Carver nodded and Cullen wondered just what the boy had heard. He could hardly recall the details; only that it had been about her -- it was always about her. 

Carver watched Cullen from the corner of his vision, careful to not wrinkle the sturdy canvas. The Knight Captain slumped slightly, shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Carver wanted to ask, wanted to tell him he had been screaming out -- for his brothers and for a girl he called Avile. He had been pleading for their lives, telling someone he would not harm them no matter the cost. 

"Knight Captain ... are you sure you're all right?" 

"Ser Carver, if you wish to ask if the rumors are true, then simply ask." Even as Knight Captain he was not safe from the knitting circle; all the templars knew of his past, his reason for coming to Kirkwall. 

"Are they ser?"

"Yes; when the Ferelden Circle fell to blood magic, I was kept alive by their leader, Uldred. He tortured me for weeks, had me do things to my brothers and to the mages too. I used to believe not all mages were bad, and some are not completely, but inherently, they all follow down the same path." He thought of the rumors; Avile a blood mage and proud of it, the cursed gift aiding her battle against the archdemon. He did not want to believe it to be true. 

"I know the story ser. I ... I am sorry."

"It ... It is nothing. Come along, we are almost home."


	17. Chapter 17

Anders awoke on the ground, forgetting just what it was like to have to camp outdoors. Not since Caria had he had such a crick in his neck. He was the second awake, Avile already dressed and waiting by the fire. The sun was just starting to show in the sky. 

"Morning." He scratched at his face. Lorena had been respectful enough to have everyone in their own tents, though judging by the circles under Avile's eyes, the little redhead had not slept a wink. In fact, he was sure he had left her last night in the same spot by the fire. 

"Yes ... Morning. It is, that." Avile fumbled for the kettle on the fire and Anders grabbed a set of mugs. The tea was one of Avile's blends and she must have brought her entire stock. He was beginning to think that she had no intention of returning to Ferelden -- all her prize possessions stored safely in her pack. 

"Avile. Are you going to go home? When this is done, I mean?"

"Where is home, Anders?"

"The Keep? That's home."

"Hmm." Avile winked sleepily and sipped at her tea. "I used to think the Circle was home. Then the road, then the Keep ... Now, I just don't know. Home is too funny a word." 

"Where are you going?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you do not intend on going back to Ferelden, where will you go?"

"Antiva? The moon? Does it matter?"

"No, I just ... I don't like seeing you this way." 

"Do you ever think about him?"

"Think about who?"

"You know who; he's thirteen now."

Anders set down his cup, looking at her with exhaustion creeping into his bones. He looked at her, fingers toying with the ends of her hair and eyes focused on the upturned rocks on the ground. 

"Every day."

"He has my hair and your eyes. He's tall and very handsome. And he ... he's not a mage."

"You ... You have seen him?"

"Yes; he lives in Highever. He's an apprentice in his father's smithy."

"Do not tell me this."

"He is so happy Anders. He has little sisters and your smile, oh he looks just ... so like you. All he got from me was my hair and freckles." 

"Did you speak to him?"

"No, I just watched. I just watched until his father noticed me. I left after that."

"Do you know Cullen is in Kirkwall." Anders sneered, feeling like poison was running through his blood. He did not like knowing this, it was better for him to be just a distant memory, a figment. But Avile had breathed life into him, gave him a face in Anders' mind.

"What?"

"Cullen. Your favorite is the Knight Captain now."

"My favorite? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing Avile, just that he is in Kirkwall. I thought you would like to know."

"No you didn't, ass. You're trying to start a fight!" 

Her eyes searched the set of his jaw for a lie and her stomach clenched into knots. She opened and shut her mouth several times, trying to understand just what he was implying. 

"Why are you telling me?"

Anders shrugged, sipping his tea and eying the horizon. 

“What would he say if he knew what you were planning? If his precious little angel was plotting revenge? Was going to kill in cold blood."

Anders watched as Avile's hands began to shake.

"Would be disappointed? Angry?"

"Stop it."

"No, you were always a fool for him and now ... Now you're being more than foolish, you're going to get yourself killed." 

Avile stood quickly, letting her cup fall and the hot tea soak into the sand.

"The only person going to die Anders, is Taliesin. No matter what you say, or who you speak of, will change that. I have worked too hard, too long --"

"Exactly. Too long; that is why you will fail."

"Is that your opinion or Justice?"

"We are one."

"Ah, the corrupted speaking of corruption. The irony is not lost on me Anders. But I do not want to fight, nor speak of this now. It will be done, no matter the cost."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very, very small interlude

Zevran crept along the tree line, following their every move through the Wounded Coast. They had been tracking Taliesin for three days now, and the man was tired from watching. They walked, they ate, they slept and rose in the morning to do it all again. It was all too familiar and he hated watching her wake just after the rest had gone to sleep and sit alone by the fire. The third night had been the worst, watching her sob quietly into her robes. 

Eight years was a long time and yet, he could still feel the warmth of her body curled next to him; the weight of her arm thrown over his chest. How easy it would be to walk ten feet to her side, watch her tremble at the sight of him. 

"Master?"

"Yes."

"The scouts have found the traitor's camp. Should we send word to Miss Isabela?"

"Yes."

"Everyone is ready on your order."

"Good, have them gather at the road."


	19. Chapter 19

"Ah, The Warden Surana. A pleasure to see you again my dear." Taliesin stood at the top of a small mound of dirt, ocean waves kicking up behind him. "You're looking well." He bowed slightly as she unstrapped her staff from her back. The others behind her did not look as ready as she. 

"Taliesin."

"So flattered you remember me, darling."

"How could I forget?"

Taliesin hopped down, moving around her. Avile did not move save but her eyes.

"And now you have found me." Taliesin showed no fear of the others standing at her back. "Do you intend to kill me?" He paused to look at her with practiced lidded eyes and the fringe of his hair hanging precariously down his cheek. 

"I do."

"Why?" He feigned ignorance. 

"You have stolen from me."

"I may be an assassin, little Warden, but I am no thief."

The first blast of magic came in the form of pure force. It sent Taliesin reeling but did not knock him from his feet. Avile cast her staff aside. Anders knew full well she had no use for the weapon.

"You stole from me, Taliesin, there is no denying it."

She sent a wave of fire toward him and he artfully dodged. The fray exploded, men pouring from the shadows. There were dozens of them against the five of them and, despite numbers, it was nothing that Lorena had not seen before. The Crows fell like any other, bleeding and wailing in their throes. 

"Still in the dark, I see!" Taliesin dodged another blast of fire and of ice, barely keeping his feet steady. He had yet to touch her.

"No, but I will send you there!" 

Avile flicked her wrist in a mnemonic and called upon the blood of those who had fallen. It came to her, looking of thin strings glistening in the sun and wrapped around Taliesin's limbs and neck. The assassin shook violently and went to a knee, his fellows distracted by their leader's succumb.

Avile moved slowly, holding one hand toward him, finger spread wide. She was holding him, making him to kneel before her. 

"Did you think I would forget?"

"Sodding bitch --" Smack; Avile's open palm connected with his cheek.

"That's just impolite. Answer my question."

"You should have." Smack.

"No. You killed him. You made me watch. Did you think I would never come for you?" Avile sat on haunches in front of him, the invisible bonds of magic tightening around his skin and neck. She leaned in, smelling the sweet scent of his demise already showing on his skin.

"And you foolishly think he is dead? Still? After so long?" Taliesin spat in her face and the retaliating magical blast sent him toppling end over end and a cadre of small cuts littering his skin. 

"I watched him die, do not try and trick me now Taliesin. Not when I have you."

"Then you should kill me now if that is what you believe. Kill me and end this Warden. My fellows will come for me."

Avile dipped her head back and laughed.

"Surely you have heard, assassin. Your guild is mine; all of it, every single inch of the Crows is mine." She made a fist and the magical bonds tightened further, spreading a blue pallor to his lips. She used her other hand to wipe an errant lock of the assassin's hair from his brow. 

"There is no little you know, Warden, so little you understand. Your precious Zevran lives! He lives and you will see!" 

Avile drew the dagger slowly, almost reverently from the holster on her thigh. Taliesin knew the blade well; first crafted for Rinna, taken by Zevran upon her death and he had passed it to her. It was funny, really, that his life should now end by this particular knife. He had used it once before, the day he cut Rinna’s throat. He watched as the shine of it came closer and the serrated edge pressed into his neck. He searched the mage's muddy green eyes for realization, for the recognition of his truthful pleadings -- but there was nothing, only shadows. Shadows he knew he had given her.

"This is necessary, Taliesin. This is ... payment."

She plunged the blade in one movement, all the way to the hilt. The magic that had held him dissipated the moment the last of his life left his body. Avile held onto the small gilded pommel as though letting go would drag her across the Veil behind him.


	20. Chapter 20

Zevran sat, legs dangling off the cliff face. Below him, his Warden was performing valiantly; playing with her target, drawing him from the others who fell to her hired blades with speed and efficiency. His own comrades were itching to jump in, but it seemed as though they were not needed. 

They hissed and spat but she had him, on his knees and begging for his life. He even told her one truth -- the only Taliesin had ever told and his Warden had not believed him. She had watched, after all, Taliesin's little knife digging into his neck. Zevran's scar itched at the memory, trying to get to her but all his energy being ripped from his body. But then she had been knocked out and the healers were on him instantly; pulling him to his feet and binding his hands and neck. 

"This is necessary, Taliesin. This is ... payment." In one slick movement Taliesin was dead and his Warden left shaking with laughter. She laughed and trembled and sobbed until her blond compatriot placed a hand on her shoulder. Only then did she dissolve, falling prostrate to the ground. 

Zevran shut his eyes, listening to the sound of her wailing. 

"It's over Anders. It's finally ..."

"I know Avile, I know."

"He can rest now. He can rest." 

"Yes, Avile, he can. Now come on, we cannot stay here." 

The blond man locked her into a heavy embrace and Zevran watched her knees give way. The man carried her, set her onto a rock and brushed hair from her eyes. He had done that for her once, he had been the only one to touch her like that and it hurt to watch another do it now. 

"I can't believe I --"

"You did. He is dead."

"Oh Maker ... Anders ..."

"Yes, Avile. Let's go back now, hmm? I'll make you some tea."

Zevran stood to watch them go, the sun now falling behind the mountains. Taliesin was dead and Zevran no longer had the Crows to fear, not now that she controlled them all. He was still her muscle, still had business in Antiva and she ... She had not believed Taliesin. Even when he did not lie. He could not help the disappointment that flooded him then, but he deserved it for staying dead for all these years. 

"Master?"

"Yes?"

"There are templars coming from the western paths."

"How many?"

"A dozen, maybe others in the trees."

"Watch them but do not show yourselves. We do not know that they are coming for them." 

Zevran looked down again at the small band that had come and dispatched Taliesin. She was still leaning on the blonde man, allowing him to keep her steady and walk her far off from the blood and stink of battle. It was where Zevran should have been; holding her, crying with her. His hands still tingled for the feel of her -- all soft skin, covered in freckles and hair that curled and went on for days smelling of lilac. She was still a distraction, even after so long apart. 

But he had some hope that put a lightness in his step. She had done this for him, an act of vengeance he hardly deserved. He fell in step behind his men, not crouching over the cliffs to keep watch over the templars, but simply walking. He had not done so in far too long. 

"Unhand me!" Her shrill scream shook him from reverie. His men had stopped moving; some looked on toward the path and others looked to him, awaiting his orders. 

"You are a maleficar. You will be taken to the Gallows!" 

"I am the Hero of Ferelden, I will not be taken prisoner!" 

"You intend to fight us maleficar?"

"Avile, don't --"

"I am a Warden, you cannot --" 

Templars surrounded her and those who followed, they raised their gauntleted hands in a mnemonic that Zevran recognized. He could only watch in abject horror as they collectively smite her. The resulting blast knocked her compatriots far and away but left her writhing for the templars to descend. 

"Orders, ser?" His man whispered.

Zevran could see they were outnumbered, more templars moving toward the group in the trees. There would be no telling what would happen should he interfere. She could see him, they could kill him, they could kill her ... His men were staring at him, waiting, poised and waiting to strike should he give the signal. But he did not, he simply watched, eyes wide and hands numb as they gathered her, kicking and screaming as they drained her and dragged her off.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey Justice.

Anders held Avile's shoulders, guiding them behind Hawke. She was uncharacteristically silent. Even Isabela did not speak, finding more interest in the high cliffs than in anything that had transpired just moments before. 

"I did it Anders ... I did it." Avile spoke in a small voice, her entire body shaking with relief. She leaned into him, placing one foot in front of the other to keep up. 

"Maleficar ..." Fenris mumbled under his breath and Anders was thankful Avile did not hear. On her behalf he shot the elf a dark look, but something else caught his sights. He stopped moving when the others did not. Avile looked at him with puffed eyes, a sniffle in her nose and a question poised on her tongue. 

"Stop there." The templars gathered in a line, a silver-clad human blockade. Anders recognized Ser Karras, the man who had chased the Starkhaven mages into hiding; the very same that had found them not a month after Lorena had let them go. 

"We have no business with you templar." Lorena spoke, putting herself between Anders and Avile, Isabela and even Fenris coming to her side. 

"And we have none with you Serah Hawke. Stand aside or we shall take you and your friends as well."

Anders held onto Avile who watched the templars move toward her. She had stopped shaking and he could feel her heart race through her bared shoulders. Lorena, Fenris and Isabela moved backward, keeping the line between him and the templars, unsure of whom they were coming for. 

"You have no right ..."

"You are harboring a maleficar. Stand aside Serah Hawke." Ser Karras pushed past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Fenris snarled. "What's that elf? Something to say?" Fenris did not respond but helped Hawke to steady herself. 

"Come no closer." Anders spoke, pushing Avile to stand behind him. He got into a defensive stance, not breaking eye contact with Kerras who was smiling wolfishly. 

"Anders ..." Avile's tiny voice came behind him and she placed her hands on his. She looked at him and stepped forward, moving to stand before the templars. "It's all right, they can do nothing." She moved forward, chin held high and her eyes were hardened. 

"You are accused of being a maleficar. Do you deny this?" 

"I do not."

"Then we must take you to the Gallows. Knight Commander Meredith will deal with you."

"No, ser templar. I am a Grey Warden. Even if I am a blood mage, you cannot take me."

"You practice blood magic, elf. You must be dealt with." Ser Karras nodded and three templars appeared at her flank. She did not break her gaze from Kerras, her eyes narrowing at the sudden threat. 

"Do not --" The smite came quicker than she had expected and she watched Anders fly aside. The glow of the templar gifts enveloping her in a harsh blue. 

The two at her left moved in, grabbing her up under her arms. Her head lolled and she whimpered at the brutish force they used. 

"Unhand me!" She screamed, the fight coming suddenly back into her body. She kicked and struggled but the templars did not falter. 

"You are a maleficar. You will be taken to the Gallows!" 

" _I am the Hero of Ferelden, I will not be taken prisoner!_ " She snarled, wrenching herself free. She whirled to all of them that now surrounded her, but she would not let defeat curl inside her. 

"You intend to fight us maleficar?" She let lightning color her skin, ice drip on her fingers and a hellish fire burn in her eyes. Anders felt the familiar shiver of Justice, the spirit deigning now to rear his head. 

"Avile, don't --" Anders reached for her, but she was already being swarmed again. There were too many, too many for Justice or for Lorena to handle. There would be no stopping them. Avile raised her hands to cast but the templars called upon their own gifts before the spell could finish. She dropped to her knees with a yelp and clutched at her sides. 

"I am a Warden, you cannot --" Karras pulled her up, wrenching her arm in one hand and letting loose another smite with the other. 

"Ser Karras!" Lorena called out, helping Isabela to stand. The collective smite was too much even for the non-mages

"Serah Hawke, return to your estate." Karras motioned for another templar to step forward. He was young, dusty blond hair and an apologetic turn in his lip. Kerran had been saved twice by Hawke; by blood mages and she stood for him when the Knight Captain threatened to eject him from the Order. He owed her, but orders dictated that he follow Karras no matter the cost. 

"Lorena ... Lorena please! They cannot take her! She is a Warden!" Anders surged forward, quelling Justice in a single moment. He would never have that sort of control again -- funny how Avile brought control out of him, really. 

"We cannot stop them." Lorena allowed Isabela to straighten, the pirate mumbling and brushing her knees free of sand.

"He is right Lorena. The Wardens have no law on blood magic. They are above all authority." Isabela shielded her eyes from the setting sun and looked pointedly at the raised cliffs. She shook her head and turned to Hawke. "We cannot leave her to them."

"And what would you have me do? I cannot exactly burst into the Gallows and demand they release her. Meredith would kill me and then move on to each of you."

Justice shimmered on Anders face. The man had a lock in his jaw and the blue hue of the spirit grew brighter in his eyes. 

**"THIS CANNOT BE PERMITTED."**

"There is nothing we can do." Lorena spoke, unafraid of the spirit.

**"SHE IS A GREAT HERO, A MAGE AND NOT A TOOL FOR THE TEMPLARS. WE MUST FREE HER."**

"Go away Justice."

**"YOU DO NOT SEE BECAUSE YOU ARE THEIR PET, LORENA HAWKE. YOU ALLOW THESE INJUSTICES TO OCCUR WHILE PRETENDING TO FIGHT THEM."**

"I do no such --"

**"YOU ARE INSOLENT AND YOU ARE A HYPOCRITE. A DETRIMENT TO OUR CAUSE. LEAVE ANDERS, GO TO YOUR CHANTRY AND PRAY FOR THE FORGIVENESS OF YOUR ABSENT GODS. THEY WILL NOT SAVE YOU WHEN THE TIME COMES."**

Justice stole Anders away, carrying him from their circle and toward the city limits of Kirkwall. Anders trailed a hot white in his wake, the spirit's essence become his own. 

"Come on Hawke, we have to get back before the sun sets." Isabela placed an apologetic hand on her arm. Fenris fell in step behind the two women and no one spoke a word, even when they came in view of the Hanged Man.


	22. Chapter 22

Carver resumed his post after the Knight Captain had dismissed him. He did not like the constant silence and vigilance the Gallows required of her templars. Hours and hours spent standing straight, not even able to lean on a wall for support. But he did always what was asked; if he kept on, Lorena would be safe and he would know he had made the right choice. 

He began to count bricks in hope that it would pass the time; it never did but it allowed his mind to wander. Was she safe? What was she doing now? Was she at the estate, curled like a cat by the fire reading? He never liked to consider her with them -- the abomination or the priest; neither was truly worthy of her in any way. 

He heard the commotion before he saw the group of templars come through the side gate. They were crowded, shoulder to shoulder and holding a girl with long, impossibly long, red hair. She was unconscious, a trail of blood where the tips of her toes dragged on the stone. His stomach fell to his feet and his heart clamored in his throat. 

He ran, pushing through the crowd of curious, but he still could not see. Lorena, he thought, Maker ... Lorena ... 

The small body grumbled, head lolling back to reveal a truly elven face. Carver felt the relief wash over him. The elf's eyes opened to reveal a muddy green splotched with blood. She looked not unlike the Dalish, but she was certainly not one of them. Her eyes met his and she pleaded, mouth moving without sound. 

"Do not ... Do not let them ..." She was Ferelden, the thick short Common tongue of his home. "Please ... help me ..." She pulled her arms free, clinging to Carver's robe. She twined her fingers in it as the templars tried to pull her back. 

"Step back Ser Carver. She is a danger."

"No! You can't! You can't! I am a Warden! You cannot do this!" She was regaining her voice, her presence of mind. Ser Karras grimaced when she swung, pitting herself away from them. Her hands glowed with the ferocity of magic despite the heavy drains even Carver could feel roiling through her. 

"Filthy maleficar!" Karras drew his sword and smote the girl, sending her flying back and set into a writhe on the ground. She was sobbing, holding tight to her midsection with fists so tight she drew blood. "Try again and you will regret it." He flashed his blade in the fading daylight, the pure silver sheen reflected in her eyes. 

"You would risk war!?" Karras smote her again, the girl sliding back even further and cracking her head against the wall. " _Hnng,_ FOOLS! YOU WILL BRING THE MIGHT OF THE WARDENS ON YOUR CITY. THE QUNARI WERE NO THREAT COMPARED --" Karras' boot connected with her face and she went silent, slack on the ground. 

"You see men? These maleficar will say anything to trick you -- even threaten an army's worth of retribution." Karras began to draw the attention of the other templars in the Gallows. Ser Kerran was already pulling the little elven mage to her feet, a deep bruise already coursing across her jaw. 

She was carried off and Carver was left to stand and watch. He knew the stories; knew the fabled Hero was an elf and a mage, but why would she be so far north? Did the Wardens have business here? Had she come to claim Anders? 

"Ser Carver, alert the Knight Commander. Tell her we have her prisoner." Karras stalked off smiling wickedly at his quarry being dragged toward the dungeons. There was a fresh, thicker trail of her blood following after and the sight made his knees feel weak. But ever the good soldier and now good templar he turned on heel, quashed down the growing feeling of nauseous dread and made his way toward Meredith's office.


	23. Chapter 23

"Does this Priest believe he can reclaim Starkhaven?" Meredith's voice was cool and even toned, despite the accusation she made just under the guise of her curiosity. 

"He does, Knight Commander. But I do not think we have anything to fear from him." Cullen had no problems with Brother Sebastian, even if he recognized a familiar pang of desperation whenever he saw the priest with the Lady Hawke.   
"We must secure our position before he comes to power. The Circle will be rebuilt and they will be subdued." Meredith made notes on the parchment, flicking the nib back and forth.

"There are far too few to start a rebellion and most are too old and too loyal to leave."

"So they have said before, but you and I have seen what comes from disrupting the mages' routines." Yes, he knew. He knew better than most in the Gallows. Most had never seen a desire demon; most had never felt the cold tingling on your spine or the jarring pleas and whispers burning in their heads. 

_Knock, knock_

"Come in." Meredith did not raise her head but Cullen turned to see Ser Carver standing in the door. He looked as though he had seen a ghost. 

"Knight Commander, Ser Karras has just returned from the Wounded Coast. He says he has your prisoner."

Meredith set down her quill and smiled, wrapping her fingers together and a faint spark of sick pleasure gleamed in her ice blue eyes. 

"A prisoner, Knight Commander?"

"Yes. A few days ago we received an anonymous tip that there was a maleficar in Kirkwall. She is of Ferelden, another if you can believe. Since Kinloch Hold was given autonomy, they have flocked here in larger number." Meredith shook her head, standing and crossing her arms over her chest. Cullen's own stomach plummeted; only one Ferelden blood mage came to mind and she should be safely tucked away in Amaranthine. Something called to him, warned him it was her, that she was here and she was in trouble. Again. 

"A Ferelden?" Cullen felt his heart beat once, twice, the feeling hollow. "Did they escape the Tower?" His mind went back there, to that holding cell and to Uldred. His poison dripping into his ears, filling his vision with images of her -- bloodied and beaten, crying out for him to kill her -- a wish he could never grant her. 

"It does not seem that way. She claims to be a Grey Warden. They will say anything to spare the rod, it seems." Meredith crossed to her door, waving Cullen to follow. "I will have you on guard duty, Knight Captain. I trust you are up to the task?" 

"Yes, Knight Commander." He could feel his fingers shaking and he made a fist in his gauntlets to quell the tremble. Ser Carver gave him a pointed look, the boy knew, somehow he knew just what fears were creeping up his spine.


	24. Chapter 24

Zevran paced Isabela's suite at the Hanged Man. He had been back within city limits before the templars, before Isabela and her friends had even left the road. He sent the others away, better to have them elsewhere, thinking, mulling over a plan. But he could not stay still, crossing the same circular path in her suite for what seemed to be the hundredth time. 

He stopped the moment the pirate silently crossed the threshold to her room. She shucked her blades, practically throwing them at her bed. She did not speak, just stared at him with barely controlled rage. He knew instantly what she would say.

"You were standing right there. Why didn't you do anything?" She crossed her arms, nose in air. 

"She cannot know I am alive."

"So you leave her to the bloody templars?"

"What choice did I have?"

"Plenty. You could have sent your men, you could have killed all of them before they even got to us."

"And hurry along your little war?"

"Better than whatever they are going to do to her."

"They will likely kill her."

"No, they will not. Death is easy for mages, darling. Tranquility is not." Isabela picked at her nails, trying desperately to quell the serpentine hiss lacing her tone. 

"What could I have done, hm? Rushed in, saved the day and then had her die of fright when she realizes just who saved her life? I am running out of ways to do so, Isabela."

"Something would have been better than running back here to hide."

He took a dangerous step towards her, scowling and ready to roar and bear his teeth. Friend or no, she had said the wrong words. 

"It is good you are here though, another friend of ours just happened to stumble downstairs." 

Isabela smiled, turning on heel and sashaying out the door. He followed, curious and unabashed -- the only one who needed to think he was still dead was currently enraptured by templars.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caria is called Cinnamon for exactly what your gutter minds' think.

Caria stood leaning against a pillar, checking her nails and picking at them with her small knife. Kirkwall was just as Nathaniel remembered -- huge, packed to the hilt with people and the whole damn city stunk of fish. For two days now they had combed the entire city in search of Avile. Every nook and cranny turned up nothing, not even a single word that the little redhead mage had made an appearance. Had she lied in her note? Had she gone somewhere other than Kirkwall? He did not want to think that Avile was lost somewhere in Thedas, getting up to who-knows-what -- the paperwork alone would send Caria into a murderous fury. 

"Anything Nathaniel?" She was using his first name, a good sign since their little escapade on the ship. 

"No. Not a word." He resisted an urge to plant his fist in the stone pillar, but decided he needed his hands just in case. It was always a "just in case" where Caria was concerned. 

"Then we go to the tavern." She sheathed her small blade, flicking the dirt and grimy bits of her nails and turned on a sharp heel. Nathaniel fell into easy step behind her, willing his eyes to look anywhere but the soft movements of her curves. 

She had chosen to wear nondescript leathers, a tactful choice away from her usual Qunari armor considering all that had transpired in Kirkwall. She must hate not having a single piece of metal protecting her skin. 

They weaved their way through the waning daylight, beggars and street performers gallantly stepping out of her way without seeing her; it was always presence with Caria. And the Hanged Man stood just where he remembered, worse for wear considering the Qunari invaders had hit Lowtown the hardest. 

He opened the door for her, inhaling smoke and cinders cooking over ashes, ah, the Hanged Man was still the very same. He had spent far too much time in the dump that passed for a tavern when he was begrudgingly sent to the Free Marches -- all the squires had. They were all unfortunate enough to have patrons who resented having squires at all. There had been little if anything for him to do. 

Caria, for all her proclivities of only drinking in the safety of her Keep, or for that matter on churning ships, seemed right at home in the din. She had a lopsided grin plastered on her face as she took a high seat by the bar. He had not even noticed she had slipped away until he saw the crop of ruffled chestnut nodding emphatically to Corff. Oh Maker, Corff still owned the place. Nathaniel hoped the groused tavern owner did not remember him. 

He moved through the throngs of people; the crowd had shifted in his years back home in Ferelden. No longer packed to the hilt with soldiers, it seemed the Hanged Man had become a gathering place for every walk of life. Brigands rubbed elbows with nobles hiding from their wives, smugglers and proprietors chatted about shipping lanes instead of cursing family names -- it was a welcome change. 

"My, my, my -- Of all the people to walk into all the taverns ... Lady Aeducan." Nathaniel had just come to Caria's side when a blond dwarf in an over sized leather coat bowed and kissed her hand. "Beautiful as ever, my lady."

"Cut the shit Varric. What are you doing here?" Caria's eyes betrayed her turgid tone; they were wide and sparkling -- the eyes of a girl who had not been exiled, whose family was not dead and who still lived coddled under the surface. These were not the eyes of his commander, but of someone she once was. Nathaniel felt bile burn in his throat. 

"Still a vulgar mouth as ever, I see. I live here my lady. And I am guessing your spectacular ability of perfect timing puts you in my fair city because of a certain little redhead with a rather large mouth?" He leaned a head in his hand and crossed his ankles as he leaned on the bar. 

Caria turned slowly to level her predatory narrowed eyes at this Varric. He smiled even wider at the sight -- a foolish move if Nathaniel had ever seen one. For the briefest of moments -- even if it stretched on longer than he would have liked -- the pair of dwarves were locked into some kind of staring contest. 

"Where. Is. She." It was not a question and the tone was sharper than Nathaniel had ever heard Caria use outside of the battlefield. 

"Ah, Lady Aeducan, that sour turn in your brow does nothing for your lovely face." Varric patted her hand, gave a sidelong glance at the many patrons drunkenly moving around the tavern and nodded his head toward an unoccupied table. Nathaniel noted there were only two chairs. 

"Where is she Varric. Do not test my patience."

"I had no designs on doing anything of the sort, my lady." A rotund human came by with a tray with mugs & pitcher balancing carefully atop.

"They on your tab Varric?" She had a thick accent, definitely not of Ferelden or of Kirkwall, Nathaniel surmised.

"The Lady is." Varric did not look at Nathaniel, though he did not attempt to mask his indignation of the human-sized shadow standing over the indomitable Caria Aeducan. The waitress nodded and walked away, tray held high above her head. She moved like a cat through the people; a sure sign she had been doing this a long time. Not a refugee then. 

Caria was tapping her nails on the small wooden table. Nathaniel watched, each drum of her finger sent the already slanted legs a little bit more off center. Varric, the dwarf, her friend, was not bothered by the action. Back home this would have sent the other Wardens into a tizzy wondering just what had happened to set her on the brink of a terrible warpath. 

"Varric -- so help me, if you do not --"

"Ah, Rivaini! Been wondering where you wandered off to in such haste."

"CINNAMON?!" Nathaniel was knocked to the side and Caria thrown from her chair when a scantily clad woman threw herself on top of the Warden Commander. Even stunned as he was, he still had presence enough of mind to draw his blade and pin the sharp edge to the skin of the Rivaini woman's neck. 

"Oh ho-ho-ho Caria, dashing friend you have here." Isabela's voice had lost some of the impish charm Caria remembered, but it was sure as she was Stone that this woman ...

"Nathaniel, put your knife away. Good to see you Isabela." Caria and the pirate stood, Isabela latching onto Caria and squeezing, huffing a few noises of pleasure as she did. Nathaniel slid his blade back into its sheath, his eyes following every movement of the dark-skinned woman. 

"Isabela, where is Avile?" Nathaniel could not resist his smirking. There was the tone of his commander, not some simpering woman he had seen glimmers of. 

"Who, darling?" The woman smirked, draping herself over the table. 

"Avile. Where is she. I know she is in Kirkwall. I would not have come if she was --"

"Hello Caria." The dwarven woman turned slowly, abject horror now painted on her face. The man who spoke was Antivan, tall and elven, lean and covered in scars and swirling tattoos. Nathaniel had heard the stories and he knew he was staring at a dead man. 

"You."

"Me?" The elf smiled, his eyes glistening and oozing charm as he did so. For a man still splattered in blood, he seemed more at ease, as though he wore finery instead of beaten and worn armor.

"What are you doing here?!" Caria practically lunged at the man, hands wrapping around his throat. He was pushed into the floor and the wood did not seem strong enough to support them both.

"I came ... I came to watch her." He hissed with the constrained amount of air getting to his lungs. Caria grit her teeth and pressed harder. 

"We had a deal Zevran."

"And the circumstances … they have changed, Caria," he coughed.

"Where is she?" Caria practically touched her nose to his. Nathaniel felt his blood hammer through his veins, they were way beyond Caria-Danger levels. 

"My lady, your little redheaded friend was taken by the templars just this afternoon." Varric chimed in, unimpressed with the display, flicking an already-dried flake of blood from his shoulder. 

Caria stood abruptly, the elf known as Zevran standing as well, clutching his already-bruised neck. She faced Varric, tightness in her hands and a vein in her neck snapping with the thrum of her racing heart. Nathaniel had just looked upon such a sight not three nights prior, only in the throes of passion and not in the face of what Caria would call "the absolute worst possible situation". Nathaniel rubbed a hand over his face. 

"But she is a Warden. The Maker-be-damned Hero of Ferelden!" Nathaniel had not realized he had even spoken until the words and anger roiled from his tongue. 

"Ah, it seems the templars were unconcerned with that detail. She is a blood mage after all." Varric made eye contact with Nathaniel for the first time in the hour since they had met. It was a cold glare, one laced with malice he would not have noticed if it were not for the hardly noticeable effect of Caria and what it did to his nerves. 

"Where is your Tower?" Caria asked, removing her gauntlets and downing the mug of ale that had sat untouched until this moment.

"You will have little luck, my lady." Varric shook his head.

"I do not need luck, Tethras. You know this better than any other."

"That I do, Lady Aeducan, but you do not understand what our lovely Knight Commander does to errant blood mages -- Warden, Hero or Divine herself." The dwarven man made a sweeping, nonchalant gesture with his left hand. 

"Caria, dear, Avile mentioned word had come to Amaranthine about the state of the city. Anders told her as much, anyway --" Isabela chimed in.

"Anders. Anders is in Kirkwall?" Caria cocked her head to the side. "Wonderful. Just sodding wonderful."


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - If Caria's soup was cold, it was Anders' fault. If her feet hurt, it was Anders' fault. When he was a Warden, he was the scapegoat. Fitting, I know.

He paced his clinic, stifling the constant barrage of Justice's yelping in his head. He had not realized how far he had run when the spirit had taken hold. All the way to his door before he could shut the spirit out. Avile was taken by the templars, he remembered that. He remembered feeling Justice slip into his foresight, the cold haze that took over his mind. Avile was screaming -- Warden, Hero, You cannot! And Justice had been screaming too; Another? You cannot let them have another! 

His head hurt. It throbbed and his ears rang. It was getting harder to push Justice back, harder to reconcile that they were one entity -- Lorena had been right all along. 

He paced, rutting up the floor with the heel of his boot. If he could have only talked Avile out of this. If he could have stopped her -- When had he ever been able to stop her before? No, the only one even capable was Caria and she was back in Amaranthine. And what of that place, the Keep? Had he never left, had he never joined with Justice ...

"Anders." The voice, as if on cue, whirled him around. He craned his neck down slowly, knowing that ruffle of chestnut hair to only belong to one person. He was glad to be right on one count; thinking of Caria, summons Caria. 

"Commander." He braced against his desk, willing the sweat to not dribble down into his eyes. "A pleasure to see you." Did she know? She looked at him like she knew. Maker she could probably feel Justice. He could feel Caria, her wretched Templar magic an aura filling his clinic. 

"Hardly." Breathe, he reminded himself, just keep on breathing, ignore the crackle of anger and fear washing over, ignore it, endure it ... there was no other way. "I understand there is ... a situation." She was barely holding it together too, he noticed. There was something underlying in her tone of voice; she was worried. 

"Yes." He knotted his hands. "Avile ... She was taken by the templars."

"Why did she come to Kirkwall? For you?" Caria did not break her eyes away from him. Always a discerning eye, watching, making notations in her head, planning. 

"She came for ..."

"Do not make him sweat, O' fearsome Warden." The ghost, the Antivan -- he was alive.

"You should be dead!" Justice, or Anders -- who could tell, really -- shouted, moved in two steps to him and pointed a dirty finger in his face. 

"So should you Anders. For leaving the Wardens." Caria did not move to protect the assassin, the very same one Avile had avenged. "But I am sure I do not need to remind of this, do I?"

"No, Caria, you do not." He backed down, his narrowed eyes watching the assassin smirk; And just where had he been during all this? For she had so loved the assassin, spent so many nights curled in her own hair weeping. How often had he found her, crumpled among her herbs, head down and that ragged sobbing, that retching sound that was like birds being pummeled. The assassin had not had to endure such a sight, had not truly seen or knew ... had he? The shadows had moved in the Keep, perilous and ominous, though that warmth he could see ... 

"Who is the First Enchanter, Anders?" Caria was speaking again, the low growl of her voice coming in a soft echo as his thoughts came back to the present. 

"He is an elf, Orsino ... He will not be able to help you." Anders scrubbed a hand over his eyes. A lot of good he had done thus far, unable to stop Meredith from going after Avile -- a known quantity; Hero, Savior, Lush ... 

"I must speak to him. And to the Knight Commander. You will take me to them." Anders blanched, a wide-eyed sort of fear in his eyes when he looked down to his former Commander. She was serious, unaware of all the going ons in Kirkwall. Avile had said news had traveled to the south, that she knew the tension was at a breaking point. Did Caria know? More importantly, did she care? The dwarf had held no love for mages outside her control, as it were. 

"I cannot." Anders thought of himself waltzing into the Gallows as a Warden, watching the templars drip bile from their hackles, ready for the chance to take him and end him just as they had Karl. 

"Why." There was no question in her tone, it was an order.

"I am ... I am not welcome in the Gallows." Anders wanted to laugh. He could feel the harshness burn the back of his throat. Caria had no idea, did she? About Justice, about the six years passed. She would have been here sooner and axe drawn, ready to strike the filth from the world. Funny, now that he was on the other side.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A really long flashback.

"This is foolish."

"Pardon?" Caria stopped dead. In the month that she had met Avile, she had hardly heard the girl speak. On the field, battle shouts aside, Avile Surana was of few words. Nods, hums of approval, the narrowing of the eyes -- she said more this way than any other.

"This," the mage waved a hand, "is foolish." Caria stopped. The others stopped too, even in the early morning chill, just as the sun was still rising, they all came to realize late that Avile was speaking directly.

"You will have to be more specific."

"We are going to get these Ashes, or at least, this is what you think. But this foolishness will not get us closer to having armies." Avile cocked her head to the side and spoke without inflection, almost as though she were reading from a book.

"We need Eamon's support --"

"I am not speaking with you Alistair. I am speaking to Caria." Avile fixed the man with a look that could set his skin on fire. "And what if these relics do not cure him, hm?" Avile crossed her arms, fixing Caria with a stare that made her want to take a step back. She did not, lest she encourage this further.

"It is a risk we well have to take."

"And if this works, what then? We cannot know for sure that this man will help us at all. What if he is loyal to Loghain?" Avile's hands went into the air, gesturing wildly. "What if this is a trap?" Caria blanched at the sudden drop in octave of Avile's tone. She had an edge to her voice that previously Caria was not sure the girl was even capable of producing. The others stopped all their movements and some their breathing at the sight.

"Help! Help! Please help! Bandits ..." A girl came from the turn in the road, screaming and flailing. She tripped with near every step and did not stop until she came crashing into Caria and Avile. They were both knocked aside in a tangle of limbs and heavy plate.

Caria pushed herself from Avile's chest and lap, offering a hand to the now dust covered mage. Avile's muddy green eyes were wild and sought first the small thing that had flown into them.

"Sorry messere! But you must help me! Bandits have attacked my family's wagon --" The little blond, clad in a plain brown cloth bowed to Caria and Avile, and hide her gaze from the sharp one she received from the mage. The peasant girl let out a sob that reverberated in Caria's head. It was far too early for this, far too early for sodding bandits.

Caria followed the girl first, everyone else falling in step behind her. All but Avile. Caria realized this, near immediately, the stalwart silence and pointed glare spoke volumes.

"You speak of traps Avile. Do you not wish to see how this one will fail?" Caria backpedaled with a slight smirk and Avile fixed her with a secondary cold glare. But the mage followed suit, falling in easy step with the dwarf.

\- - - - -

They came upon a clearing, a bend in the road outline with sheer rocks. Caria did not like the quiet. The girl had led them here and there were no bandits to see, but Caria knew they were not alone. The Chantry Sister whispered to Alistair about claw traps, pointing quietly in a northward direction. Only Avile marched forward, defiant in her steps after the little blond peasant. Caria resisted the urge to shake her head, the girl could be stubborn, she would give her that.

The mage stopped when an elf appeared, all tanned and corded lines swathed in soft leathers. He wore his hair tied in a braid, hefted to the one side to reveal a stark black tattoo covering his face. Caria did not like the look of him and wished Avile would step back. The elf smiled, baring all his teeth. Avile must have felt the unease as well and locked her knees. Caria could see her hand twitch for the feel of her staff.

The rope snapped, the sound filling the small expanse. Caria and the others looked up, just in enough time to watch a massive oak tree barreling down toward their heads. Caria heard Avile swear as she jumped back and noticed seconds too late that the mage alone had dove forward.

Alistair was first to Caria's side, grabbing her up while the others fought the minor disorientation. Alistair opened his mouth to speak when the heard the shout, coming in a harsh foreign tone up and over the fallen tree.

"The Grey Warden dies here!" Caria felt panic in her brow and the others felt it too.

"Avile ... she's over there ..." Leliana brought hands to her mouth to cover her worry, her brows rising higher into her hair line when they heard clashing steel and the sound of arrows missing their mark.

The rocks were too high to climb and the tree a smooth, dead weight that blocked any path forward. They could only listen when they heard Avile scream. The smell of magic, ice and lightning, hit all their noses and they could see fresh smoke rising. Men wailed from their burning.

"We must do something!" Leliana spoke in a harsh whisper.

"We cannot get to her. Not while they are fighting." Caria fought to lose the furrow in her brow.

"Show yourself Warden! Hiding is futile, you should know!" They heard the sharp accent again, followed by quick footsteps, likely the man dancing around as rogues were apt to do. Caria and the others listened, some in horror and others, such as Sten, with a fascination glimmering across otherwise stoic features. The great Qunari was curious to see how the mage would do alone, and Caria hated to admit that she felt it too. She had suspected that Avile had been holding back, but with no other offensive mage she knew, there was no comparison. She felt a small twinge at the thought of Thoriel, he would be a welcome sight right now.

"Come out, come out!" The assassin called again. Alistair shot a nervous glance to Caria, who waved a hand and strained to listen, to figure where Avile was. They had not felt the swirl of her magic in a full minute.

"She is hurt Caria." Alistair whispered gravely.

"Oh Little Wardennn -- Won't you show your pretty face? For me, dear?"

"How do you know this?" Caria was unnerved to speak, she was surprised to find. She had far too many thoughts swimming in her head to consider that Avile was hurt, possibly dying -- if the look on Alistair's face was to be believed.

"We templars -- we can feel mages. They can feel us, too." He spoke softly, worry crossing his brow. They were the three Wardens, the only ones in all Ferelden. Alistair and Avile may be at odds, but Caria could see, it did not change that they were all bound together. One loss would be too much --

Avile broke Caria's frantic passage of thought with another keening sob and Alistair stumbled back at the sound. He wore a face of horror and Caria smelled blood.

\- - - - - 

Avile heard the rope snap, saw the tree and lunged forward. She stumbled and fell. The hem of her dress caught on brambles and sent her rolling forward and she landed hard on the ground. She saw stars when she tried to focus, the world slowly coming back in bright spots of red and white. She did a quick check, clenching her hands and wiggling her toes. Everything hurt and the back of her head felt wet, sharp even, and she knew she had broken the skin.

The elf stood over her. He was still save for the feral smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As her vision came back into focus she realized she was alone, Caria and the rest on the other side of the massive fallen tree. And there were more than the elf, the high rocks now had archers standing atop, all taking aim at her small spot inside a bramble bush.

The elf chuckled and raised a hand, his eyes never leaving her face.

"The Grey Warden dies here!" In a flash of movement his blade came down next to her head. Avile rolled again, pulling hard on her robes to get them out of the thorns. The silk shredded easily and she felt the sharp ends pull at the flesh of her legs in chunks. But she moved, scrambling to her feet and darting aside.

Somehow she was able to duck into a small copse of trees, her path pocked with arrows that barely missed each of her steps. She pulled herself flush against a tree, removing her staff which was beginning to crack around the middle. Her fall must have snapped the strong wood and she muttered a curse at that.

She dared a glance around and an arrow caught in her shoulder. She inhaled sharply, pulling herself back. The wound began to fester immediately and she could smell the spindle weed poison moving through her at haste. She braced herself as her eyes shook from the rush of blood to her head. Five minutes. She had five minutes before the poison would knock her unconscious. She had a flash of Karl's face, smacking Anders' knuckles when he made the mixture too strong.

She gripped her staff tighter, letting the song of ice and the image of pure lightning fill her head. All thought and movement stopped when the magic filled her and the words of the simple spell left her lips. It consumed her. The call of continued living spurred her forward, revealing herself and the field. She sent waves of ice over the archers, freezing them in place. She called the cloud of lightning to the middle of the field and there was nowhere the hired swords could run.

She took off across the field, ducking and weaving through swords and a second barrage of arrows. She had luck until the assassin appeared in front of her, a fine mist dissipating from his body. She skid to a halt, nearly losing her balance again when he grabbed her and wrenched her wrist backward. This put her inches from his face. He smelled like boiled leather and spice. His hands held a sharp warmth that resonated amid the early morning chill.

He stroked down her cheek with rough fingers, his silverite dagger still in hand. It danced dangerously close to her throat. She met his eyes, feeling her own bulge from her skull. They were the color of honey and wheat, fields of it swaying in the summer winds. His fingers played across her collarbone and he smiled wider, a flash of something in his eyes that made her stomach flip and chest clench.

"Please --" she spoke but he pulled her closer to him, those expressive eyes flicking over her face. In a quick movement he kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance. She felt her own lips parting, welcoming that strong spice that threatened to overwhelm her senses. And for a single moment, she was lost.

The kiss seared her mouth. She felt the loud clang of magic come to a shuddering halt in her mind's eye. The air pricked at her skin and she heard his dagger fall to the ground. His hand moved in flourish and gripped at her hip, simultaneously dropping her wrist and bringing them flush against each other. He became more demanding as she became more aware of the men moving in around them.

She pushed away, stumbling backward. She saw her opening. In his shock he had let his daggers fall too far from his reach and he was left unattended at the left. She pushed her shoulders forward, scooping her staff and charging. She rolled into his shoulder, knocking him to the side and she dove for the tree line, arrows again nipping at her heels.

"Show yourself Warden! Hiding is futile, you should know!" His voice rang out in her hiding spot and she felt gooseflesh travel the length of her body. She could still feel the roughness of his hands the taste of him lingered so acutely. Arrows peppered the ground in front of the bush she had clamored inside of.

"Come out, come out." His voice, laced with a fierce accent that suggested Nevarra or Antiva called out to her again. She stilled herself as another barrage of arrows landed down, closer to her feet this time. Sweat was pouring off in waves and her hands had already taken on the shakes; the poison was still working through her. She had little time left, she knew.

She had an option. One option that would save her long enough to heal her wounds. She did not want to do it -- the risk was high enough already and without Caria or the others ... She had no choice. She pulled her small knife from her belt, holding with both hands to stem the shake and tremble of her fingers. She plunged the blade into the palm of her hand, biting her tongue to keep from screaming out.

"Oh Little Wardennn -- Won't you show your pretty face? For me, dear?"

She stood at the sound of his voice calling out to her a third time. The shaking of her limbs had stopped as the blood came freely from her hand. She felt buzzing in her ear, as though a fly had come to bother. She closed her eyes, listening not to the sound of moving swords and loosed arrows, but to the quiet song traveling up her spine. It was a whisper, musical and horrible and she embraced it.

There was a crack like lightning and a guttural cry she was sure only she heard and all fell quiet on the field.

\- - - - -

Caria whirled to catch Alistair's arm, lest he trip and snap his neck over a branch. Avile's cry was still echoing about the tall trees when his eyes caught hers. He let his own hand snap around her wrist and they stayed, still and quiet until the wild fray died to silence.

"Blood magic," he breathed. "Caria ... She's ... She's maleficar." He nearly spat the word and his face filled with rage. She wondered at his palpable anger and the group's sudden sullen disquiet until they had managed to clamor over the fallen tree -- now that threat of ranged attacks were gone.

Caria had never seen a sight so gruesome. Bodies and limbs, tangled and soaked through; the ground seemed to bubble and smoke. The ground felt thick with mud and Caria spared a glance down to see that it was blood, a molten layer of it, flowing from one point as would a river. Avile stood at the center of it all, covered head to toe in ilk. She leaned on her staff for support and the waves of crimson ebbed slowly off her. She did not appear to even breathe or see.

"Avile --" Caria spoke her name and the mage fell, collapsing under weight of her staff. The wood was chipped and cracked, barely held together by the tendrils of live wood at the center.  
The Chantry Sister rushed to her side, carefully moving her head to rest on her lap. The others set to task of checking the fallen and Caria stood amid them, watching Avile's mouth foam over. She barely heard Leliana call out, nor had she ever seen Morrigan move so quickly, pushing the Orlesian out of the way.

One of the assassins still lived, or so she thought Alistair said. She had known there was something about the mage, something she could not quite place. She had seen it clear enough back in Redcliffe, when she had agreed to easily to Jowan's ritual. Caria had simply thought it to be old loyalties come to surface. But Avile had wished to keep this secret, keep it until it would kill her -- which, Caria sighed, would likely happen now.

"Shall I kill him?" She had not realized she had walked to Alistair's side, her eyes looking but never registering the vision of the tanned elven man lying prostrate on the ground. For all intents he seemed unconscious, but Caria knew better and his breathing was coming too shallow.

"No. Tie him. We will ask him questions when he wakes."


	28. Chapter 28

She breathed in little gasps, the burlap bag over her head stifling. It stunk of sweat, fear and an end sure to come. It was not her sweat, but others, that faint scent of lyrium all mages had, underlying. Her voice was hoarse from all the shouting. Her limbs hurt from all they had walked her. 

Her wrists and ankles burned from the bonds they chained her with, and she could feel cold and wet between her toes -- blood, she was sure. They had drained her, kept draining her as they walked her in what seemed like circles. Down stairs, up stairs, the sound of dripping water and hushed voices. The whispers were like snakes, the laughter all at her expense. 

They stopped her when a cold splash of water soaked her legs to the knee and one of the templars shoved her unceremoniously into a cell. She could smell the mold and old rot that permeated the underbelly of the dungeons. The clang of iron being slammed and locked pierced her ears and they rang shrilly to the back of her spine. They kept her chained and masked, the thick heady scent of those who had gone before was making her sick. 

She sat, on the filthy floor, feeling the molded stone slide underneath her. Her finger itched as the constant drain began to wear, slow as it ever was. The chains on her ankles had not seemed so heavy when she was walking, shuffling, but now they felt like bricks, part of the very floor and she had no hope of escape. 

"I've really done it now." She thought, said, she could not tell under the hood. She supposed that was the point -- cover their eyes and ears, drain them, disorient them, make them beg for an end. She knew the stories, the horrible nightmares the little ones would have after thrashings -- such was the life of a mage; she bit back a harsh laugh. 

Time passed slowly in the dark, the cold of the day fading even deep in the dungeons. Avile counted and recited verses, no voice or presence of templars she could tell. She was left alone, likely to rot here like the others she did not doubt came before her. Fitting it should be that way, really, even if she was a bloody Hero. Perhaps they would fight a war after her death. She could see it; Caria leading the marches into Kirkwall, legions of Wardens all ready to die in her name, for her loss. She wanted to laugh again at the absurdity; the spitfire dwarf would most likely shrug her shoulders and move about her business. Loss was palatable and Avile knew that better than most. 

She moved back against the wall, her head slamming a little harder than she intended against the stone. She would be here a while, perhaps forever, the Maker knows no time underground or caged in iron. 

"Many are those who wander in sin," 

Avile bit back against the cold air, her breath felt freezing in her lungs. 

"Despairing that they are lost forever," 

Did they get Anders too, she wondered? 

"But the one who repents, who has faith" 

She had faith once, so long ago. 

"Unshaken by the darkness of the world," 

The darkness had life, she knew, she had seen it and felt its blood coat her hands. 

"And boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations," 

The sun and stars she had been so denied, most of her days only knowing cold stone and endless halls lined with men in garish silver mail. 

"She shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction." 

She knew the vows templars took, sneaking around with Anders and Jowan shaking with excitement at her back. To see and hear such a holy thing -- she remembered Cullen's face, nervous and how elated he had been after. He had no idea he broke her heart that day, forever lost over the line she could never cross. 

"The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next." 

Tears fell hotly down her face, making the hood stick to her cheeks and burn where the little betraying drops of sadness lay. It was unfair, alone, underground, and yet, still a Hero to those back home. She could not stay here and live, there would be no living in the dark. 

"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword." 

His voice still sounded the same, resonating in the shadows. His voice shook, curling her toes. He would not kill her, he would not harm her -- he never could. All the air left the room at the sound of his feet shuffling, his gauntleted hands curling around her bars. 

"Never thought I would hear you reciting the Chant." There was sadness and relief behind his words. Like seeing a ghost or dreaming. She could picture his face and the shaking hand he would use to rub the back of his neck. She could hear the creaking of his metal gloves, flexing and subconsciously testing if he could snap the bars. "Are you all right?" 

"What is your definition of all right?" She did not trust her own voice and she could still feel her crying and there was no way for her to wipe at her eyes. "It's dark." She could not suppress the small whimper of fear that came in her admission, not too many knew the acute fear she had of the dark -- how the Deep Roads had haunted her, even years after. But he knew, Cullen had always known. 

"I cannot unbind you." He entered her cell, lighting a pair of torches on just the outside wall. She was so small, the chains looked enormous on her wrists and ankles. She wore a deep emerald shift and it was spotted in blood. Was it hers? Was she injured? Her breathing was labored and even more so when he pulled off the hood. Unearthly red hair sat matted to her face and nearly covered the whole of her eyes. 

"You can because I am no prisoner, Cullen. I am a Warden. They cannot keep me." She spoke in a soft voice, quiet as though they were in a library and the First Enchanter was near. She peered up at him through her long fringe, those familiar and haunting deep muddy greens learning his face for new lines and dark circles. They had not been there the last she had seen him. 

"The Knight Commander doubts you are who you claim to be." His hand moved of its own volition and brushed the hair from her eyes. She did not flinch away as he thought she would. Her lip was bruised, a little trickle of dried blood hanging precariously on her bottom lip. 

"She can doubt the Maker lives in the sky, I do not care, she cannot keep me prisoner." The chains rattled when she tried to move her arms. 

"Avile, you were caught ... as a maleficar." He wanted to hold her. She looked so small, so cold. 

"The Wardens have no laws against blood magic." She was not looking at him.

"But the Chantry does. There is no proof you are a Warden, even my word will not save you." She knew this; he did not have to tell her. She knew what they would do to her, even if Meredith had not yet decreed it. 

"I am no prisoner!" She would have stood if she could. The chains rattled her limbs and made her teeth chatter. Her voice was weak, hoarse and her bones creaked with her movements -- she should really be thankful she was not in Qunari bonds, those thick plates they hung from your neck -- Caria at least never threatened to sew shut her eyes. 

"Avile --" There was not anything he could do, even if he wanted to. 

"Do something Cullen. Get me out of here." Her eyes snapped to him again, the rattling chains weighing heavy now on his hands. Her fingers were freezing, like she had been dipped in ice. 

He watched her shake at her chains, the shrill sound echoing off the wet stone of her cell. She looked smaller, as though the years had trimmed all the fat and comforts of youth from her bones and made her into hard muscle. The scars were the worst. The other templars must have stripped her down to her shift, and her legs, even heavily manacled, were traced with scars. Thick, mottled and a stark white against the grain of her skin. Her arms too, they were tracked and marked, like teeth or claws, not sword nicks like he had. 

"I cannot."

The torches flickered. Nine years ago she had begged him to change his mind, to not see the Tower -- their home -- destroyed. He did not listen then and she agreed, a sad sort of glimmer set into her eyes then, made the mud slick waters of her irises fall away to dullness.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback!

She prayed she would not find him there – Maker keep him, Maker guide him to the shadows, safety from the abominable storm. Fate was cruel, the gods and demons too when they found him outside the Harrowing Chamber. Cullen on his knees, body shuddering with sobs and keening moans, he doesn't look at her. Maker keep him, grant him solace in this wretched place. 

“You're not real!” So many times he has seen her, his hands at her neck, watching the life ebb from her amber green eyes. “Begone demon!” His breath catches on his words, he is so tired and they won't let him sleep. They've taken her form again, dressed her in fine silks and lengthened her hair. They are testing, always testing his resolve, his restraint. 

“Cullen – we can get you out!” Her voice is different, aged in only moments. Her eyes are swollen for him, he knows, he's seen it a time or two before -- false words from perfectly mimicked lips – stolen details from the back of his mind. 

“You're not here,” he bellows, prostrating against the magic barrier sealing him from her, “you are not real.” He hasn't felt them snaking up his spine, “you're not ...” she hasn't faded away; she's still standing there with foreign faces at her back. 

“Cullen, Maker, it's me. It's Avile!” He's on his knees and she's matched him on the other side. Those beautiful green eyes, her perfect cheeks with that perfect shade of blush – he mustn't believe it!

“No! Demon! Foul, filthy thing – I can feel it, snaking under my skin – begone now, temptress.” She watches him claw at his skin, nothing to do but watch and feel the others she'd forgotten shift on anxious feet behind her. “Using what I've always wanted but could never have, using it, and turning it against me.” His ragged breath and cracking tone plies her skin and she can feel the magic churning in her veins. 

“Cullen, I swear I’ll get you out. Just hold on, please.” Her face is streaked, pleading huge eyes for him to calm, but he won’t be assuaged. They keep on stealing her face, her voice, and her small hands. They offer him release if he would only just stop denying it. “Caria – help me, please, we have to get him out. There must be some way to break the barrier.”

The dwarf steadies herself, eying the frantic girl-child before her. The barrier is strong, rife with dark magics, there’s nothing to be done while the tower is still under Uldred’s control. She looks to Alistair, hoping he will give an answer but the former templar only shakes his head. “I’m sorry Avile; we can’t do anything for him now.”

“No, impossible – there has to be a way!” Cullen watches her pace outside his accursed cage, her hands wringing and the others watching idly, stares flitting between her and the way to the Harrowing Chamber. 

“Avile – you have to stop him – Uldred. He made me watch … made me watch them all die, change. He saved me for last, please Avile … kill them all.” He remembers the small girl, round face and beautiful eyes that didn’t shy from him as all the other apprentice mages did. And they had avoided her too, the ‘circles within the circles’, as they said. 

“Just … just hold on Cullen, I swear I’ll get you out.” Her fingers clenched, the chipped nails cutting into her palms. An old habit, Cullen had always noticed. He still loved her, wondered if he would ever get to tell her. He didn’t deserve it, really, not after what he had seen, done in his head. Maker, the bodies of his fellows and the bloody sword in the corner of his magical prison had been his initial undoing.

“They’re tainted, all of them, you have to kill them all!” His breath came in little ragged huffs, barely catching in his lungs. She was ethereal just beyond the barrier, the month she’d been gone had changed her, hardened and steeled her frame. “We thought you were dead, Avile. We all did.” His voice went shallow, soft and a bright white flashed in his eyes. 

“I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” She ran a hand through her hair; shut her eyes for a moment before blinking languidly, solidly. “Is Irving still alive?” 

“He’d be better off dead. Uldred’s been changing them, turning them all into abominations. The Chamber needs to be cleansed, Avile, it’s the only way!” Did she not see? She had not seen what he was forced to watch. His fellows, his friends, the tower’s family ripped limb from limb. What Uldred made him do. 'Cut them Cullen. They have sinned. Deliver them ...' the cacophony of Uldred’s horrid laughter breached the solid oak door and she turned fast, drawing up her staff. 

“I’ll save them, if I can. I have to try.” She did not hear him call after, he loved her and she needed to know. He watched her disappear up the stairs, this holy vision come to release him; he didn’t care anymore if it was a simple demon trick. It was the one thing he’d held onto, that she would come and bid him to the Maker’s side. 

Caria grabbed her hand, whirling her around and nearly knocking her off the stairs. “We can’t do anything for him Avile, you know this.” Her eyes were pleading, she didn’t understand the look in Avile’s eyes – that fierce determination, the same Duncan had seen, the same Jowan had manipulated. After everything, after all that the Tower had been and had become, even if she hated the place, she wouldn’t let it be overrun. 

“Well, I have to try.” Her voice cracked more than she would have liked and Caria, for her part, dropped Avile’s hand in favor for taking up his axe. Alistair and Zevran followed quietly, the elf’s eyes lingering over the lithe mage once more. 

They paused outside the chamber doors, checking over one last time before shouldering a heavy breath in each set of their lungs. Who knew what lie on the other side, completely unfathomable as they opened the doors and a wave of abominations moved upon them like locusts. Uldred, as expected, watched the entire exchange – each of his foolhardy thralls falling to their spells & blades. They were expendable – as expendable as they Chantry viewed all mages. 

“Nice of you to join us little Avile! Didn’t think our prize Warden would miss such a party!” The elder mage paced, a wicked knot forming in his brow. 

“Let them go Uldred! I won’t allow this –“

“Oh but you will, little pet.” A flick of his wrist and Irving’s body was lifted, plied by a sputtering ball of blue haze. “Your precious master was just telling me how he was willing to join us, to free the Circle at last!” Another movement in his hands sent Irving flying, a sickening crack of bone as he fell against the hard stone wall. 

The lightning burst from her fingers before Uldred could undergo his full change. The pride demon screamed out, in his voice, cursing her as she sent another wave of lightning crashing into his chest. It was blind fury that carried her, blotted out all other senses unrelated to making Uldred pay. What he had done to all her friends, her family, to Cullen – Uldred could not be allowed to live. Spell after spell left her fingers, incantations spurned by hatred magnified the magical effects and the Harrowing Chamber was near-decimated before she took a moment to breathe. She fell to her knees, watching with diluted interest as her companions help the addled mages to their feet; Irving supported by Zevran’s shoulders and the rest a veritable mess. 

A heavy, gauntleted hand fell on her shoulder, the fingers encased within the heavy metal trembling. It is a familiar touch and she cannot hold back any longer. The tears slide down her cheeks and she pulls him into an awkward, half-kneeling hug. He hesitates, but she couldn’t care, he’s alive and he’s all right the only thoughts thrumming in her head. 

“I’m sorry Cullen. I’m so sorry!” She leans into him, nearly knocking them both over and he holds her to his chest, unsteady hands running through her hair. “If I hadn’t – If I had never,” he whispers for her to stop, his breath hanging on the shell of her ear. 

“It’s okay Avile, it’s all right.” The hand he has at the small of her back is wet and he keeps the pressure there. She doesn’t even feel the wound, an errant blast of magic dug deep into her fair and freckled skin. “We need to get back to Greagoir – you need healing.” 

“Yes, let’s go Avile. We need our support from the mages & Templars now that Uldred has been dealt with.” Caria, with a deeply furrowed brow steals her from Cullen’s grasp none too gently. A subtle action not lost on Cullen. 

“They’re all lost, you know – you can see it, right? You’re a templar too.”

\- - - - -

“So the tower has been cleansed? Forgive me if I doubt such a remarkable thing.” Knight-Commander Greagoir seemed to have aged significantly in the time she’d been away from the Tower. Either that or being out in the world beyond such oppressive walls opened her perception. 

“Doubt all you will Greagoir, but our Avile has saved us all.” Irving, as exhausted as he was, patted her knee affectionately. 

“I have done as you asked, Knight-Commander. I trust that you will have our troops ready when the time comes?” The room, the four stone walls and even the elaborate woven rugs seemed to be closing in, suffocating her. It doesn't help that she's wrapped nearly head to toe with bandages; wounds she hadn't even felt until she saw Irving back to the main hall. 

“You’re leaving so soon?” Irving stood, despite his injuries and obvious fatigue he nearly sent his chair toppling to the floor. 

“I have to, First Enchanter. There’s still much to do.” She smiled for the man, unwilling to let her panic show on her face. It was enough to know that he did indeed still want her there despite all she had done in the name of friendship. He pulled her into a fatherly embrace, petting her hair as would her father if she could remember him. 

“Know you’ll always have a home here, child,” he whispered into her ear, “and someone else will always be waiting for you, you know.” Cullen. She felt the fever blush rising in her cheeks – had Irving noticed? She stared at the man, mouth opening & closing in rapid succession as she grasped hopelessly for any semblance of reassuring words. “I may be an old but I’m no fool little Avile. You and the boy had eyes for only each other.” Greagoir feigned disinterest at the revelation, but his scowl betrayed otherwise, curled downward nearly pointing at his chin.

She strode from the room feeling a little less constricted at the knowing of his parting words. Her companions waited for her in the lobby – Leliana lazily strumming her lute much to the delight of the young Templars and surviving mages gathered around her; Caria and Zevran chatting amicably while Alistair and Morrigan argued for what no doubt was the hundredth time that day. But her eyes wandered beyond them, searching for a set of sea foam eyes and unruly auburn hair. 

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” His defeated voice, one she wished would leave him just as soon as he was freed from Uldred’s prison burned the back of her neck. 

“Yes, Cullen, we’re heading to Redcliffe as soon as we are able.” She stared up at him, aghast at the emptiness staining his eyes. It was as if he’d been chipped, whittled away into a mere shell – nothing of the man she loved seemed to remain. The Maker was cruel in his ‘justice’. 

The last she saw him was the day she was cast from the Tower. Labeled a heretic, accomplice to a blood mage. Jowan had nearly killed her in his rage over Lily’s arrest. It was Cullen that had stepped between his macabre spell and her. He took it for her; fell lifeless into her arms while the other Templars moved in to quell her enraged friend. On the road to Ostagar she prayed he would think her dead, hoped he would forget her and live the rest of his days in peace. But to see him so tortured by his own thoughts, desires – she could barely look at him anymore. 

“Will you come back?” He stepped forward, allowing the distance to close between them slightly. 

“I don’t know.” She bowed her head, chastising her mind for allowing errant tears to escape her eyes. “I don’t know if I can.” 

His arms fell around her, hoisting her to her tip-toes. A shuddered sigh fell across her neck and the scruff of his beard prickled her skin. Twelve years she dreamed of this. Twelve long years of nervous glances, shy & stuttered conversations just to feel his arms around her. She would save his life over and over if it meant she would smell the spice & sweat of his skin, hear his heart pound as it was – and she would leave him again, over and over to spare him the shame. 

“Goodbye, Cullen.” 

She didn’t turn back as they left the Tower, the cold night air making gooseflesh & shivers resound through their party. It was cruel to hear the others laughing and chattering as they were. Did they not feel death’s cold hand closing in? Were they not able to feel the chill as they stumbled blind through the Fade? No. No of course they hadn’t. She had saved them, freed them from themselves. And no one had come for her. No one dare venture her nightmares. No one saw the fire consuming all the timber shanty houses, no one heard her mother’s screaming, no one saw her sister telling her it was her fault mother was dead. She fought their demons when they could not and fought her own even when her body & soul protested.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I wonder how idiotic and oblivious they all really are. Aaaand, another interlude full of revelation!

"How can he be alive? I thought ... I thought he died, when the Crows came for him?" Nathaniel paced the small suite loaned to Caria. The dwarf called Varric had insisted she stay here, safe from prying eyes and the merchant's guild. 

"Because I never told her he was." Caria thumbed the pommel of a small dagger, the handle encrusted with gaudy jewels. 

"Why?" Nathaniel could not understand why Caria would do such a thing. Avile had so loved the assassin and had suffered much when he was dead. And yet, Caria had known he was still alive? She had known and said nothing? He wondered briefly if he had misjudged her temperament. 

"I promised him that I would not." Caria listened to Nathaniel stamp his feet at that admission. He had been pacing in circles for nearly two hours now. Question after question after question and he never really demanded an answer. It was like he was speaking to the air, letting his thoughts tumble from his mouth in order to find their meaning. It was cute, really. 

"But she ... Do you not remember what she was like?" Caria flinched, slightly, barely. She remembered the sound of smashing ceramics and yelling. That shrill sound and words in a language she did not understand. How Anders had stormed away from Avile's study, bleeding from the chunks of broken glass in his brow. 

"I do. But I made him a promise -- to never tell her. To never, ever tell her." Nathaniel could not see it, he had not been there. The rain, the bounds around Zevran's neck and arms, the finely sharpened blade point held against his neck. The blood-soaked bandages around his neck and the pure sincerity of his words. He was not asking for her silence, but for her protection.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another small interlude

Lorena stared at the note and back to the small impish courier who had delivered it. He was bouncing toe to toe, foot to foot while he waited for her response. But what does one exactly say in response to a king? Let alone the King of Ferelden?

"Tell His Majesty I will be there as soon as I can."

"Yes, Serah Hawke." The little man bounded away, quick as a lightning flash around the twisting cobblestone streets of Hightown. 

Viktor nudged his head into her loose palm, whining slightly. 

"I know, royals." The mabari's ears perked and he bounded around her feet, nearly knocking her into a wall.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela: The Voice of Reason (dear me, another interlude)

"So what are you going to do?" Isabela leaned into her mug of ale, if you could call it that really. "Are you going to swoop in and save the lady in distress, profess your love and run off into the horizon?" She sighed and winked, choking back a laugh into her cup.

He did not look at her. He stared at the wall, counting wood knots and ignoring the pirate's pestering. But she was the only one who would speak to him. After Caria knocked him on his ass, that is. He had expected it though. He had made her swear she would never say a word and in turn he promised never to show his face again. When would she learn his word was a copper a dozen?

"Guess you can't, can you? No. Of course you can't do a single thing. You love her, you would do anything but save her life." The pirate's tone took on an edge of venom. She had watched him do nothing when the templars took her and she despised him for it. He hated himself too, had for a long time. 

"But more than that, she doesn't even know you're alive. All this time, she's been missing you, loving you and mourning you." Isabela took a long pull on her mug, draining it in one go. "You really should see her letters. Poor little one, so lost over a doddering fool like you." 

He wanted to put a fist through a wall, or a templar helmet, the two were interchangeable at this point. He wanted to go in there, swords glinting in the firelight and take her, free her. She was his little bird, a swallow whose wings were going to be cut. A travesty for her not to be able to fly away, safely and high out of harm's way.


	33. Chapter 33

She nibbled at the stale bread. A sliver of light poured through the small window high in the vaulted ceilings above her. Cullen sat outside her cell door, still and silent as a mouse. He had not said a word since he told her he could not remove her chains. He had stayed in that chair all through the night -- she listened to his breathing change subtly in the near-darkness. He almost fell asleep once, but shook himself awake with a gentle creek in his armor. 

"Sister Roslin is going to come today." He spoke softly, hoarsely. "She has a clean set of clothes for you, and a brush for your hair." 

"No keys though, right?" She spoke through a mouthful of the aged bread, little splinters of crust cutting into her tongue. She was overly hungry and she could feel her stomach churning. Bread had not been enough to satiate her for years. 

"No, no keys. But perhaps a bit of lavender? It grows around Kirkwall." Cullen leaned his head against the wall, casting a glance inside her cell. She was watching him, still nibbling on her chunk of bread. 

"My my, next you'll tell me she has a hot bath and a plate of steaming Orlesian pastries." She smiled, feeling the nostalgia of an old forgotten life fill the drab little dungeon they had sequestered her in. And Cullen was chuckling, his cheeks a soft red and round, they could light the whole of the world. She shook her head, no, she had come to Kirkwall for revenge, not to flirt.

"She will stay with you when I meet with the Knight Commander." Cullen stopped laughing then, and turned to face the hall again, away from her. "I am hopeful she will see reason."

Avile clicked her tongue as she sipped from the small water skin. She cocked a brow so high Cullen was sure not to miss it. He raised his own in return, a familiar and dream like smile ghosting his face. 

"From what you say, reason is not exactly her prerogative. Reasonable people do not lock away Wardens." She plugged the skin with her cork, hiding the small gift from the Champion's brother into her sleeve. They say Fereldans are barbaric, but Avile was convinced the Kirkwallers would let her starve and die alone before anything else. What else did a mage deserve?

"She is a strong leader." Cullen shook his head. "She knows what needs to be done. I can understand her caution, but ..." He trailed off, looking down at his hands. 

"Do not let thoughts of me cloud your judgment." The words slipped off her tongue before she could stop.

"Beg your pardon --"

"Cullen, I have known you most of my life. You ... you are in love with me. I know it. I have known it. Do not let me cloud your judgment." The words came unbidden, poisonous, and yet they rang painfully true. She was a blood mage, near an abomination. She had done more damage than she had ever spared. She ... She was not Caria. 

"Avile --"

"No, just ... Just let it go. Your Knight Commander has caught me, she has ... she has no right, but she will do as she is wont to do." She could not bear to say it. She knew they would not kill her, no, that would be far too easy. They were going to keep her as a prize, a living rag doll to sit around and look pretty. A sodding trophy. 

"No." He stood so fast he made a small wind that fluffed through her hair. "No. Do not say that. Do not ever say that." His hands wrapped around the bars of her cell and he was staring at her, wild eyed. She saw him like that once before, when he begged she cleanse the Tower. And she had, for that look in his eye to go away. It did not suit him and it hurt to see. "Not ... N-not ever." 

"I'm sorry ... Cullen, really, I'm so --"

"Don't. I do not need you to apologize. You have no idea what I ... What happened, what Uldred did." Fear crossed his features uninvited. He was remembering, even after all this time, the nightmares were still fresh even in waking. Avile wished she could just keep her mouth shut. To not speak would be a blessing. 

"Knight Captain?" A small voice cropped up around the corner, the nervous twitch in her tone said she had heard something. 

"Ah, Sister Roslin. You are just in time." Cullen turned to her, just enough not to see Avile blink back tears that she forgot she even possessed.


	34. Chapter 34

Alistair stepped into the Viscount's Keep unprepared. Caria was standing before him and looking at him in such a way that his blood turned cold. 

“Caria.”

“Alistair.”

“Didn't think I would run into you so soon. Are you meeting with the Knight Commander too?”

“I am. Did you bring Avile's papers?”

“Papers?”

“Yes, her Warden papers. You did remember them, did you not?” Caria wore unusual armor, made of butter cream leather and chain. A great pauldron, all full of sharp obsidian metal spikes, came up her left side and her Ironbark and dwarven steel axe hung loose from a thick leather and metal strap. It was nothing like the full plate she wore all through the Blight, nor was it anything like the garb she wore for formal dinners. 

“I … I was in a rush. Your letter said that she was locked in the Gallows. What is going on, why are her papers even necessary? She is the bloody Hero of Ferelden!” Alistair gestured wildly, the smell of mead staining his breath. She never knew him to drink so early. Perhaps it had simply been a long journey; she remembered hers both fondly and anxiously. 

“You were in a rush?”

“Yes, well … you're here. Avile's locked away. Why wouldn't I rush?”

“Such a rush that you left her papers at the palace. Such a rush that you left the one thing that would actually free her.” Caria had inched forward without him knowing. She stood on her tip-toes and on any other occasion it would be adorable, but not in this moment. Alistair opened and closed his mouth several times. Thankfully, even after such a childish display he was saved – most as he often was. A tall, brute of a human came forward, dressed fully in templar armor. The polished silver of it with the blood red robes made him seem all the more imposing. He wore no helm which revealed a strong jaw and wide flat neck. 

“The Knight Commander will see you now.” He turned on his heel without allowing either the King or Warden Commander to speak. He led them down a long hall, no paintings or tapestries calling to the recently deceased Viscount. Caria thought that was strange and judging by the way Alistair fidgeted with his armored doublet he too noticed the strange absence of mourning that so often came some years after a ruler dies. Especially in the case of one struck down so violently and without an heir to carry on. 

The templar guard watched them from his peripherals, knowing the true strength of each from the stories. He had come from Ferelden, left before he was even of age to enlist. His father had run off from his mum, leaving her alone with his little sister. He lost track when the Blight had come, taking over the small hamlet south of Redcliffe near instantly. They did not appear to be heroes, great stalwart warriors Wardens were always painted to be. But the dwarf, he could feel her, the templar gifts flowed through her more furiously than when he stood before the Knight Commander. The King, the former templar-turned-Warden did not feel the same, perhaps it was the smell of sour mead that permeated the air around him that masked the innate gift that each templar shared. Just as mages knew each other without sight or sound, so did the templars. 

“Sit.” Meredith gestured to a pair of lush chairs on the opposite side of the Viscount's desk. The Knight Commander wore her long blond hair loose at her shoulders, the red hood she normally sported was absent, Caria saw it hanging near the fire – she must use it for the harsh salt air that seemed to be so thick around Kirkwall. Amaranthine was a port city and even there, Caria did not feel such humidity and the salt did not cling to every inch of her skin. Alistair too played with collar of his forest green and gold doublet, the double snarling lions of Ferelden in a dark blue, the Warden blue Alistair had always been so fond of. 

“Knight Commander,” Alistair cleared his throat, “I implore you to release Avile Surana. She is a Grey Warden and the beloved Hero of Ferelden. You cannot keep her in your dungeons.” He spoke with an almost desperation that made Caria turn. She had woken to that look in his eye before. It was just after Caria had come to in their shared tent, bandaged thoroughly on her right side. Three days had passed; Morrigan had said she nearly died along with her for all the magic she had extended. 

“Do you have any way to prove this, Your Majesty?” Meredith folded her hands over the short stack of papers before her. She set her quill down with her index and forefinger and looked at the pair of them; Alistair disheveled and stinking of the drink and the Warden Commander Caria Aeducan painted and dressed like the wretched Qunari. 

“I do not, but I am the King of Ferelden. I think I would know my Hero.” Caria arched back in her seat. His hero?  
“And do you have any way to prove you are indeed the King of Ferelden? To me you seem but a foolish boy in fancy, wrinkled clothes.” Caria snapped her eyes to the Knight Commander, leaned back in her chair and smirking toward Alistair. Her palms itched for her axe and a reason more than insulting a King to cut her down. 

“You are not serious –”

“Oh but I am. This is Kirkwall, the Free Marches. King Alistair is a young man yes, but I would not know his face from another. And these times are dangerous, what with Qunari and Magisters and Orlesians threatening borders and ideals at every turn. Surely you do not think me foolish and to not hold the line?” 

“Knight Commander, I believe now you are being ridiculous.” Caria surprised herself, rushing to the defense of Alistair floundering under the cold and baseless questions. “What you speak of is zealotry and an unwillingness toward peace. Do you wish to bring war to all the lands in Thedas?”

“Perhaps what this world needs is another Exalted March. You both carry The Gift. Surely you can feel it?” Meredith prostrated her hands toward her gilded ceiling, a wicked little smile playing at her lips. 

“You cannot be serious, Knight Commander. You speak of madness!” Alistair's nails dug into the soft chestnut arms of the high-backed chair, nearly ready to jump to his feet in protest. “You would bring down the full might of the Chantry, for what exactly?”

“You know nothing of what has happened in Kirkwall, do you Your Majesty? The mages here … they have certain powerful sympathizers among the nobles. They are growing more and more rebellious and are plotting their own revolutions. We must stand vigilant lest the pestilence spread.” The Knight Commander's searing blue eyes spoke to Caria, Alistair fading so easily from such an early morning sight. Caria felt upended, her scar itched – the whole of it carved down the side of her neck. She wanted to scream and to have her axe in hand. 

“And what does this have to do with Avile.” Caria knew, the truth of it all passing in those wounded eyes across the heavy, human height desk. She was heartbeats away from busting into the Gallows dungeons and killing any templar she found along the way. 

“She gave you that wound, did she not?” Meredith's eyes and posture slackened and Caria was flooded with that night. The bits, the pieces all falling into place. Avile and Morrigan fighting, cats with newly sharpened claws and she made one misstep. No armor or weapon and stepping between two enraged, very powerful mages with a half-hearted smite. Alistair stepping in, calling out her name so desperately, such need holding her feet to the warmth. 

“She did. But I was foolish and you assume things you do not understand.” 

Caria felt the growing anger swarming in her stomach. Alistair, the high-ceiling office and huge furniture faded into the background. She could hear Avile, not precisely her, but her magic. Its presence was one she had lacked for quite some time. Funny, only two weeks and she had missed the sodding mage so much she chased her all the way across an ocean. And Caria always finished what she started.

“Avile Surana is a Grey Warden, Knight Commander,” Caria was sure her disdainfully laced use of the woman's title settled in the back of her mind as a permanent threat. “She is mine to have, to kill or make Tranquil. She is my Warden and you will release her into my custody.”

“You dare threaten me?”

“I dare threaten the might of the Grey Wardens while you threaten their Hero. You see, never has a Warden survived the battle of an Archdemon. In its death, so is lost the Warden who delivers the killing blow. Avile Surana did this, and thus, she is legend.” Alistair had stepped between Caria and the Knight Commander's desk faster than she had blinked. Suddenly his profile was to her and his hands over her desk, pointing and nearly foaming at the mouth. She had only seen such conviction once, the day he fought against her when she spared Loghain's life. “And she is of Ferelden, their savior. You may not keep her. You may not make her your prize.” Caria watched as he wore such a crestfallen scowl and the smallest droplet of tears formed in his eye.

\- - - - -

The door to the Viscount's office closed and the pair stared at one another aghast. Each of their gazes flitting between one another and the solid oaken door. Neither could speak, staring came easier, better to hide secrets that now lay bear. 

“What now?” 

“What do you mean, 'What now?' Alistair? She nearly killed us both and you forgot Avile's sodding papers. There is nothing to do now. We … We can do nothing now but wait.”

“That's it? We wait, Caria? For Avile to be made Tranquil?”

“And what would you have me do, hmm? I have no great plan of attack, no way to get her out. I do not even know what sort of condition she would be in. Chained? Unconscious?”

“We cannot just stand by and let this happen!”

“And why not? She brought this upon herself.”

“How can you say that? She is our friend! Caria,” he grabbed for her hands, and she tried to let them slip out easily enough, but it was futile. She had the sense to wear soft gloves, the best kind for swinging her axe. Avile had gotten them for her last nameday.

“Friend.” Caria stopped all movement, feeling Alistair's heartbeat through his palms. “Yes. She is my friend, Alistair. Yours as well.” She did not want to think that they had been … No, they would not. “You are right, we should do something, but there is nothing to be done.” 

“Well I will not stand by and let this happen to her Caria.” He dropped her hands, stalking off and muttering. She could never believe they would … that they – she could not even think the very act between the pair of them.


	35. Chapter 35

It was now Caria's turn to pace. Nathaniel watched her mutter, emphatically wave her hands and shake her head. Back and forth before the fire, she clenched and unclenched her hands. She needed her axe. She needed an ogre or two to quell the surge of anger and anxiety that was pouring off her in waves. He leaned on the door frame, waiting for her to notice him. And notice anything but her own thoughts, she was not. 

"Ahem, Commander?" She whirled to face him, breathing heavily as though she had just run seven leagues. "Did the meeting go well?" 

"Meeting. Commander. Yes, no. It did not. It will not ever go well if a drunk Alistair is involved." Caria scrubbed hands over her eyes. "Why are you calling me Commander?" She paused in her itching and stared at him, one perfectly chestnut brow arched in what was certainly not amusement. 

"You are still wearing your armor." He looked at her, head to toe and she mimicked the action. She was wearing her armor. She had not realized. The meeting had gone so horrendously she had not even the thought to change. She even still wore her silver boots, the blue sashes at the tops were fraying already. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, the heavy goose-down mattress did not even move when her full armored weight pressed into it. Nathaniel went to her side. He knelt and looked at her and she regarded him carefully, her eyes begging to know what he would do next. 

"You know, my father sent me to squire here, in Kirkwall. Sent me away from home at sixteen to learn the ways of war. I had such hopes that I would, see the battle from a king's height, watch the entire bloody affair. Instead, I learned how to get blood out of cloaks and how to dress a man in full metal in under a minute."

He spoke while he unlatched her boots, carefully putting them aside and letting his hands linger over her feet. His fingers were warm, and deft -- an attribute to his many years training with his bow. Even the callouses felt divine. 

"I also learned that wenches are never your friend, instead the best of all spies. The man I served, a Lord Lithwain, was murdered by his favorite. A scrawny girl, pale blonde hair and eyes who shoved a curved dagger into his neck while they slept, naked and side by side."

Nathaniel pulled off her woolen socks, his eyes growing wider at the sight of her legs. They were shapely and strong, smooth to his touch. He had not a proper look at her cramped in their little ship's hold. But now, she sat motionless before him, allowing his ministrations outside of urgency. And she was beautiful, a sight to behold, really and truly. His head swam with the vision of her, spread before him and whimpering, begging he continue. He wanted that sound again. It trailed his every step.

"What happened to her?" Nathaniel stilled, leaning a chin on her knee. His breath was hot on her skin there and she shivered. 

"I cut her throat myself." He did not break his gaze from Caria's eyes. They were enrapturing and they had ensnared him long before he came back to beg her to let him join the Wardens. 

Caria made a low sound when he exhaled a lofty sigh and she moved a hand to his hair. Carefully, reverently she brushed aside one of his braids and turned her head to the side, regarding him without expression. If not for her tender touching or looks she thought he did not see, he would think she hated him, more than she seemed to hate Anders. 

But when she kissed him, drawing both her hands to cup his face, forcing him to move at her pace -- always her pace, he loved it that way -- he could not help but return it and forget such silly fears of hatred from Caria Aeducan. She killed those she hated and surrounded herself with those she loved.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot, plot, plot ...

"You are clearly attached to her Knight Captain. She is the girl from Kinloch Hold, is she not? Your Greagoir wrote to me about her when he sent you to me." Meredith leaned back in her chair, her perilous eyes had always made Cullen's skin prick. 

"I knew her, yes. But that is not the issue here, Knight Commander." He wanted to scream, shake the woman to make he see reason. "I watched Avile Surana become a Grey Warden. I know she is the Hero of Ferelden, the one the stories tell about."

"Ah, you saw her recruited. You did not see her join. Greagoir wrote to me of that as well." Cullen had to wonder just how much Greagoir really told her, or how much was just her sharp mind filling the holes. "Did you watch her slay the Archdemon? They say it is fatal to the Warden who deals the killing blow. So why I wonder, if she truly is the Great Hero, why does she still breathe?" 

"That ... I do not know." Cullen felt defeated. "But Avile is no liar."

"She is a mage, Knight Captain. And mages will do anything to further their own gains. Perhaps you do not know her anymore. Perhaps she has changed, just as we all do when the years are lean and rife with hardship."

"Avile is not like them." He did not raise his voice but his head was screaming above the cacophony of wretched memories that flooded him. Uldred's orders, the slip of his poison tongue clicking in approval over the pile of dead templars -- they had been Cullen's brothers, his men he was tasked with keeping align. And he remembered her, both in his head and when she saved them all. "She saved the Tower. She cleansed it of filth and made it whole again. I cannot believe that is an evil thing."

\- - - - -

Cullen stood outside the Hanged Man, his thoughts mulling over Avile in her cell, Ser Thrask standing guard and the news that her Warden Commander had arrived in Kirkwall. He was glad that Hawke had set him connections with some of the more amicable Coterie. It was easier to track errant mages. He nearly laughed again, the inappropriate idea of hunting mages seemed so sickening. 

Caria Aeducan was easy enough to find. She wore a leather jerkin, lightly armored in gray steel, the front emblazoned with the traditional Warden Griffon. She had long chestnut hair, braids and dreaded locks marked with beads flowing throughout. The style was familiar, just as the qunari wore around their horns. She sat with the Lady Hawke and Brother Sebastian, the rest of her fellows seated around them as though they were royalty. He had always seen it in the man's eyes; wanting what he could never have. He must have succumbed to it, and Cullen felt jealous over his own lack of will. If he were to let Avile from her wretched cage, he would hunted along with her. They would have no where safe to run in the Free Marches and that would only be if they could escape. Meredith had doubled the guard force in the Gallows since she had taken Avile. He had been lucky that she summoned him and asked that he stand lead guard over 'their acquisition'.

He had agreed to this boon, assigning Ser Thrask and the young Ser Kerran to watch as well. But that did not stop the Knight-Commander from lining the halls with more, their beady eyes looked upon the small elven mage with a fiendish air. He felt such sickness in their presence. He could not waste time any longer and pushed himself toward the small dwarven Warden.

“Excuse me, are you Warden Commander Aeducan?” He made himself to stand at full height, Hawke raising a brow at his appearance in Lowtown. Cullen remembered his conversation of how he had no luck with the ladies at the Blooming Rose and he fought against the small blush that he felt in his ears. 

“I am. I know you, do I not?” She leaned over the back of her chair, the high back cocking her elbow at an awkward angle.

“Yes, we met some time ago.” The dwarf had stood behind him when he had begged for the Tower to be annulled. Avile's face had been awash with horror. But the dwarf had agreed, the same dark magics had threatened her too. 

“Yes, you are that templar from Kinloch Hold. I remember. You are in Kirkwall now?” She stood, sizing him up when he offered his hand. She took it regardless, holding gingerly to his bare skin. He had forgotten his gauntlets when he left the dungeons. Avile had been playing cards with Thrask when the messenger arrived. 

“Yes, I have not come here because of that, however.” The Warden Commander gestured to a small table. He followed, all the other eyes watching curiously. Hawke had a small smile on her lips, her own flaming red hair surrounding her face and the small drunken swell of her cheeks. Now, as he watched from the corner of his eye, he wondered why he compared her so often to Avile. The Lady Hawke was beautiful, yes, but she was not ever to be his. He craved another and he missed her now, even as he was faced with the indomitable Warden Commander.

“You have come because you have news about a friend of ours, yes?” Caria held her face calm, but she was reeling with the idea that her friend could be taken so easily. Of course it was her own fault, as it always was, but still – this was no stupid apostate. Avile, for all her proclivities, was still a Warden. She was still the one who took down the Archdemon and backed that boast with a surprising amount of power. 

“They have her in the Gallow's dungeons. Soon enough Meredith will not be satisfied with holding her there ma'am.” Caria scanned the man's face. She could see it, just as she had those years ago when blood mages swarmed from the walls. The Tower had been his home as much as it had been Avile's. But he had called for annulment even when the little mage had turned on her waterworks. Caria had not made that decision lightly. And neither had he, if such tawny eyes were to be believed. 

“Please, do not call me ma'am.” Caria took in a soft breath, motioning for the waitress to bring a round. “And how is she?” 

“She is well enough, all things considered. Playing cards at the moment.” Caria raised an eyebrow at his soft smile. 

“And you have not thought to set her free?”

“I have, but you know this is not possible. Kirkwall is still recovering from the Qunari and now, I fear the Knight Commander may be actively seeking to draw others into the war.”

“So she has become a prize, has she?” Caria sneered and took a long pull on the mug of stale dwarven ale. Cullen did not drink, in fact, he never had. 

“The Knight Commander does not accept her word that she is a Warden, nor of your compatriot Loghain Mac Tir. She has put him in the Viscount's Keep.”

“Yes, they have papers. I have Loghain's, but Avile's are in Denerim.”

“The King arrived yesterday.”

“Yes, King Alistair is in Kirkwall.” Caria tasted metal when she spoke his name. “But he did not bring her Warden papers.” She said through clenched teeth. 

“Then … then she cannot be freed?” He did not expect to sound as defeated.

“She allowed Loghain to leave with me, though she expects him to be on board a ship back to Amaranthine.” Caria snickered, knowing Nathaniel – damning himself as she was sure he was – had taken the guard of their compatriot. “Alistair may be a bit of a fool, but there must be someone else we can appeal to?” 

“Our Viscount was slain by the Qunari invaders. The Knight-Commander has taken up rule of Kirkwall.” Cullen ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I am afraid there is no one else.”

“Then, unless you have some grand plan …”

“I do not, Warden Commander.” 

“Is she safe?”

“For the moment. I have my best men stationed at her cell.” Caria knew templars, knew what they were capable of and knew what they did to blood mages. Despite Avile being anything but the sort, she still held the dark magics close to her. Caria's scar itched at the thought and she had to force the urge to rub at it back down. She took another long pull from her mug and slammed it back to the table unintentionally. 

“Are you sure they can be trusted?”

“I am.” Cullen held a stern gaze, his fingers playing over the handle of his untouched mug. “She is a very old friend. I cannot … This cannot be allowed to happen to the Hero of Ferelden.” If he were honest he would admit there was so much more at stake than the loss of her. It would kill him too, drag him down along this hollow dark road. She would walk in shadows, places he could not follow. Even if it could be so easy. With Sers Thrask and Kerran at his back, they could get her out of the Gallows. But Meredith would hunt them to the ends of Thedas. 

“I will have this Meredith's head if she attempts to do what I imagine she is planning.” Caria could not bring herself to hear the rumors that had been flying since her arrival in Kirkwall. She chided herself for letting Nathaniel distract her. All that time aboard that wretched ship could have been used so much more wisely. She should have expected Avile to get into trouble, Stone only knows she always does. 

“It would be better for you, Knight Captain, if you were not involved.”

“You are planning something?”

“Not exactly, but I am sure I will be. It would be best if you were not associated with me.” Caria stood, gesturing toward the door. “I think it wise for you to return to the Gallows. Whatever may come, I will get her back.” She looked at him just as they crossed the threshold outside, the cool night air hitting them both fast. “In one piece, you can be sure.”

“Yes, Warden Commander.” Cullen turned to head back to the Docks, casting weary eyes toward the fading sun.

“Oh and Ser Cullen?” Caria called over his shoulder and he turned sharp, blinking fast for the dots in his eyes. “Tell her that … Never mind.” She smiled, biting down hard on her tongue. It would not be long now, she was sure, having seen Alistair's early display. Cullen nodded, though she knew he was confused – that was the thing about Avile, she spread confusion and rankled brains wherever she went.

She leaned against the wall of the Hanged Man, the sun fading quickly across the sky. The firelights from the foundries took the beauteous purple hues place with red and oranges of their own. She missed home, the feeling of her own bed and her carved griffon chair in her Keep. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be there now, instead of a city that stunk of fish and such a rotten, hateful core that threatened her family. She snickered at the thought of Avile being family. The idea was … foreign and strange, but if she and Alistair had – 

A small boy knocked her from her epiphanies and nearly sent her doubling over. She felt the alcohol coursing through her when she caught her balance again, the boy laughing in echoes and out of sight. She leaned a hand on the wall, looking up and spying the small parchment folded and tucked into the leather strapping of her arm-guard. 

_Things are well in hand, you need not worry your pretty head._

_\- Z_

Caria crumpled the note the urchin had shoved into her hands. She scanned the alleys around the Hanged Man but there was no sign of the boy. In the seven years since his “death”, messages always came the same. Denerim, Redcliffe, and Amaranthine all the same, little boys who no one ever saw would always find her and pass them along.


	37. Chapter 37

“Only three more hours.” She sighed, looking at him and using her hand that he did not hold to move a lock of hair from her eyes. She smiled, or tried to, knowing it all would soon end. 

“Yes.” 

“I always … Cullen, I'm sorry for teasing you back in the Tower.” 

“You do not need to apologize for that.”

“Yes I do. I never meant for it … Maker dammit.” 

“You know Greagoir warned me to stay away from you. Said you would corrupt me.”

“He did not!” She used her free hand to smear her eyes and he could feel his own hands shaking over hers.

“Yes, he did. So did Irving and your mentor Wynne. Said I would get nothing but heartbreak if I continued to follow you as I did back then.” Cullen lay his head against the bars, were it not for their cold and unfeeling metal between them, their brows would touch and he would no longer possess any sort of control. “But I never listened, not once.”

“Cullen …”

“No, listen to me. Please, Avile?” He locked his eyes with hers, boring into her in such a way she had never seen. It was something she had always seen within his honey eyes, but never once admitted to what it did to undo her resolve. “I have always … I have always lo –”

“No, don't. Not now. Please, Cullen … not now.” She slipped away from him, slinking back against the hard stone wall and covering her face with her hands. She had always known he loved her, and she had loved him since the day she saw him first. But now it was too late, far too late for anything to ever come. It would be unfair, in so many ways to admit it now with only three hours left to share. 

“And I will, through it all.” He pleaded softly to her, shutting his eyes against the torrent that threatened to break through the seams. He felt as though he was being torn to shreds watching her sob into her knees. And soon it would end, those tears would dry and death would no longer cling to her skin. 

Silence stretched on as the morning sun broke the lowest mountain top. He had unwittingly counted the seconds and now, only an hour remained.

“Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“I know, you know. I have known, for … for a really long time.” She took in a ragged breath, daring to lift his eyes and find him staring. “And I … If I were honest and good and right …” She loved him, just the same and always had, the words fell dead on her tongue even in this final hour. 

“I know, Avile. I … We really have a horrible sense of timing, don't we?” 

She came to the bars in a flash, kneeling before him. She slipped her hands through the bars and threaded her long fingers into his hair. The motion and softness of it all moved him closer. His nose met hers and his eyes shot open. She was tear-stained again and leaning herself through her metal cage. She kissed him, gripping him desperately and pulling him as though he could melt through the bars. 

He had dreamed of this, felt it and wanted it for far longer than he ever would care to admit. But it could not be, not now as she had said and he wished he did not agree. To know was enough. To know that she felt the same, that she … 

“Knight Captain?” Ser Thrask called from the corridor and Cullen pulled away. A fevered blush marked both their faces and the need pulsed through him at wicked speed. She sat back, flattening herself against a wall. She had kissed and been kissed more times than she could remember, but Cullen … she had always heard the tales of fiery loves that smoldered in a single kiss. She never believed them to be true and she wondered if he had felt it too. 

“Y-yes Ser Thrask. What is it? The sun has not yet –”

“Meredith is coming.”

He moved to stand but she pulled him back to her, both of her hands coming over his face. She held him, searching and pleading with those spry eyes. They were fading and drawing him in all the same. She looked as though she wanted to speak but the words would not come. And he did not want them, did not need them. 

“Hurry, Knight Captain.” Thrask called again and he willed himself to move from her. Meredith could never see, never know about his. He would watch over Avile Surana for the rest of her days, even if it meant she would be less than whole. He owed that much to her, he knew. She breathed sharply behind him, little inhales and the cacophony of her heart thrumming. The end, was never fair.


	38. Chapter 38

Caria and the others dressed in silence. Not a one had slept, gathered around the fire in the Hanged Man that was now just smoking cinders. Anders, Nathaniel and Loghain had sat huddled close to her and they all simply watched the flame. And now, they were due to watch what was worse than execution or public torture. They would see her fall and be not a phoenix from the flames, but a simple small and wretched bird without the ability to fly. 

“Are you sure you trust this … note, Caria?” Anders was the first at her door when the sun's first light broached Sundermount. They had all gathered at the Hanged Man, the Wardens having stayed the night by the main fire. 

“What choice do we have? Have you thought of another way to get her out?” Caria stared bleary eyed at the disheveled blond mage. He had not needed to change clothes, the robes he wore already shabby enough. She was sure she had purchased the very same moth-eaten frock when he first had joined the Wardens. She was surprised he kept it so long. 

“I just … I worry –”

“Yes, well, he will see that she is unharmed.” 

“That templar? Cullen? He is nothing but Meredith's lap dog! Caria we cannot trust him!”

“I am not trusting him to do anything.” She shoved the crumpled note into Anders' hands and his eyes went wide as he read it. 

“But … Is this who I think it is?”

“Yes.”

“But he is dead.”

“No, he is not.” 

Anders ran over the stories in his head – the nights up late with Avile, drinking and talking. She had spoken so fondly of the elven assassin, missed him acutely. She mourned him, ran through blended days bathed in blood with her memories. _'You would have really liked him Anders. He was … He was kind, and funny. He made me feel like a person, not just a mage or Warden. And you know how much that counts. How much it means to our kind.'_

“She does not know, does she?”

“No and hopefully it will stay that way.”

“But –”

“Or, she will know soon enough.” Caria sighed and ran fingers through her hair.

Anders clamped his mouth shut as Caria sidled past him. He fell into step behind her, remembering Karl and now Avile, the pair of them had hated each other to the point of bruises in the Tower. And now Karl was dead, the luckier of the two. 

“Stay close to me in the Gallows Anders. I will not lose a second Warden to this Knight Commander.”

Anders stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing several times before Caria turned to regard him mischievously. Any other time it was always Anders' fault. The stew burned, Anders must be using blood magic. Caria's feet hurt, Anders must be using far too many earthen spells. He could still recount each one and the shrill tone in which she screamed at him. He followed her again, a soft smile playing on his lips and the sweet silence of Justice in his head.


	39. Chapter 39

They arrived at the Gallows and the crowd had already gathered. A dense collection of peasants and nobles, their faces all toward the hastily constructed podium. The people were all full of hushed whispers and weary eyes. Templars lined the stone walls encircling the main foray. They were all motionless suits of shining metal, the early morning sun already warming the air, making it stick to all of them. Caria moved through the crowd as far as she could go, stopping just short of the elevated stage. She put up her hood, best not to draw attention. 

“People of Kirkwall! You have come to see just what happens to maleficar who plague our city! These monsters have been allowed too long to roam freely, their poison spreading further and further every day.” Meredith lead the small cabal, templars circling her in a half-moon. Avile was between them all, an executioner's hood over her face and chains around her hands and feet. The templar Cullen held her arm, guiding her down the stairs. She moved slowly, her knuckles white, Caria could see, even from a distance. “This monster claims a title of Hero, but her filthy magics have fooled entire nations. And her pestilence will end today, good people of Kirkwall.”

Avile was made to kneel and Meredith stood over her, feral smile pulling all the way to her eyes. She nodded and one of the templar guardsman pulled the hood from Avile's face. Her hair stuck in every direction and her features were wild, and Caria could feel the small bits of magic coming back to her. Meredith must have as well, the smite knocking Avile over and causing her to writhe. 

“We must remain vigilant when other lands are threatened. We must remain vigilant when these monsters cross into our lands and threaten our people!” Meredith raised her smite again and again, Avile now sporting little cuts across her skin. She looked as though she would shatter, the keening sobs and moans swirling in Caria's head. 

“Stop this Knight Commander! You cannot do this to her!” First Enchanter Orsino pushed through the wall of templar guards, his face aghast with the sight before him. But they swarmed him in a moment, pulling back away from the stage. Caria felt him be smote as well, the collective guards falling upon him at once. 

“You will bring war upon us all! You have gone mad, Meredith!” Orsino bellowed from out of sight, another swirl of the templar gift knocking him out cold. Avile still writhed on the small stage, slipping easily in and out of consciousness. 

“Stop … this … Please …” Avile croaked a few words, her silvery green eyes staring unblinkingly at the formidable Knight Commander. “Just … end it … Please, just … do it.” 

Caria saw shadows flickering just outside the boundaries of the thick crowd. She moved forward, pushing as far as she could go, but only so far – the wall of people so close toward the front that she could go no further. Meredith was still speaking, calling for the Chant of Light and a strange wand Caria had never seen before. 

“You will not want to be standing here for much longer Lady Aeducan.” She felt the hands on her shoulders and the simpering whisper in her eye. She cast her eyes over her shoulder, Zevran wore a hood and mask, but it was undeniably him. Caria saw the outside shadows move again, each time drawing closer and closer to the stage. 

“How long?”

“Get a hundred paces. That is all I can grant you.”

Caria moved in a flash, the hooded assassin pulling up his face mask once more and gliding through the crowd as though they were water. She moved fast, shoving people aside. Alistair had come dressed in common clothes and was standing nearest to Anders. She grabbed his sleeve and began to pull, words falling short as they all ran with her. She heard Meredith call to have Avile on her knees, her head lolling back and forth. 

“And you will be marked, forever in the Maker's light.” Meredith spoke solemnly, pressing the heavy leather-bound book to Avile's forehead. 

The surge of anti-magic coursed through her, all her limbs going rigid. Her eyes seemed to bulge from her skull and she spoke, her shrill voice breaking through the mantra Meredith kept on repeating. 

“Drown us as infants! It would be less cruel! I swear it, I will –” A templar grabbed onto her hair, wrenching her neck backward. “Do it now! End this, end it now! I will still come for all of you!” Meredith pressed the book to her head, holding the back and pulling her head forward. 

Caria and her fellows broke the edge of the crowd just as the cloud of pungent smoke consumed the crowd and stage. They were all knocked down by the blast, eyes blinking in white hot spurts. The crowd began to cough and wheeze and they could tell that those who had been closest to the front suffered the worst. The smoke took only moments to clear and when it did, Meredith stood with a book held to air, Avile nowhere in sight save for the chains that held her strewn about the stage. 

“Close the gates! Find her! Find her now!” Meredith whirled around, anger surging through her bones. The templars scattered, those that could stand, and Cullen spied the Warden Commander floundering at the back of the crowd. Meredith caught onto his errant gaze, “Get them! Ser Cullen, get them! Get them before they can escape!” 

The crowd resisted as he, Ser Thrask and Ser Kerran moved through them. The disorientation was palpable, affecting every man, woman and child. The gas was nothing like the Qunari poisons that had been unleashed in Lowtown, but the effects were almost the same. He had heard of others possessing such acute tinctures, and the thought that an outside party was involved made his blood run cold. He did not know Avile anymore, it had been far too many years. He should have kept a closer eye, released her himself or killed her when she asked. Did those that saved her wish to do her more harm? He would never see her again, the same crushing depression that plagued him when she left for the Wardens at the forefront of his mind. And yet he moved onward, silent and resolute. He was thankful Meredith trusted him still, even if it meant he would be forced to run when they found her. 

They searched the entire breadth of the Gallows without a single hair from Avile's head. Meredith flipped her desk in rage when she was told the news. She promptly sent Cullen and his men to the mountain paths, hoping to find the mage before she would be able to flee the Free Marches.


	40. Chapter 40

It was always the same dream; she would be laying, flat on her back staring at a clear blue sky. She could hear her name, floating on the wind the whole of it consuming all sound in the small valley. She would stand, look around and see a figure across the stream. He was shouting for her, waving his arms to get her attention. She always walked to the very edge, seeing through the glare of the sun that he was familiar. Zevran. He was always waiting for her. But the water, calm and unmoving as it always seemed threatened her. She could not swim, he feet were sunk into the mud, and there was no boat for her to cross. And he would call to her, his hails becoming more and more desperate every time though she could barely hear him at all. 

And she would always watch as the shadows moved behind him, Taliesen's face clear as though it were staring into her own. The assassin would always come from behind, drawing a small serrated blade and dragging it across Zevran's throat. She would scream and wake, the vision of him bleeding out where she could not go to him blatant in his mind. 

And so it was that she woke again, hands shaking and eyes searching for something familiar. She was in a tent, the smell of gamey meat on a fire, a fire she could hear crackling outside. She was wrapped in furs, the roll she slept on smelled of familiar leather. She supposed that was simply her mind playing tricks, smells often evoked fond memories. She looked around, a burst of cold across her skin – skin she just noticed was nearly bare. Her robes and soft slippers were cleaned and folded next to her. Had Cullen set her free? She had nearly been made Tranquil. She could still feel the burn on her forehead. 

A figure slept in the corner of the tent, his arms stretched and head rolled back. He snored softly, as though he may not have slept in a very long time. It was not Cullen – far too small and made of wiry muscle. His arms were bare, thick black lines curling the length of the hard cords. She knew those markings, far too well and her breathing made a fevered pace in her lungs. But it simply could not be, it had to be someone else – maybe Cullen had connections? She wanted to laugh, but the man moved, his own bleary face blinking and meeting hers. 

“You are awake.” His thick Antivan accent stung her ears. The sound pulled at her skin, she felt as though she would crumble into dust. “Are you hungry?” He leaned forward, one eye open and a hand running sleepily through his hair. It had gotten longer, swirling about his shoulders though the braids were still the same. 

“A-am I … in the Fade?” She pushed herself backward from him slowly, the sight still hazy from the addled sleep she had been under. She laughed nervously, her hands that gripped the fur blanket shaking now. “I must be dreaming.”

“You are not, love.” Her stomach flipped and her insides clenched into knots. She could not breathe, she could not move at the sight of him. 

“T-that is impossible. Y-you are dead.” A vision of his body, torn to little bleeding bits crawling on elbows toward her. He was being scraped by the gravel under him, but he crawled to her regardless. His neck was weeping waterfalls of his blood, a nervous smile that knew of his end. 

“I am not.”

“No. I watched you … I saw it, I saw you die.” Blood pounded in her ears. She wanted to run, she wanted to crawl into him, she wanted to set him on fire. “Who are you? An imposter?”

“Surely you recognize me? Surely you know that I am who I am.” He sat on his knees before her, his hand moving hair from her eyes. His touch sent lightning into her motion through her veins. 

Tears streamed down her face, the coolness sheltering her skin. She must be dreaming. She had this one before, where he saved her, took her away from it all. Nothing could be sweeter, he lived. He was alive and she had mourned his loss for so long. 

“Why are you here?” She choked on her own voice which came out weak. He moved toward her again but she matched his move with one of her own that sent her tumbling out the side of the tent. His skin, how she wanted to feel it again. How many nights had she awoke with the thought of him still alive? 

He grabbed her up, his calloused hands going over her shoulders and neck. It stung when he touched the marks where chains had been. His eyes were so tired, his mouth parched and different. New lines had sprung in his face. He ran his fingers over the scar the Archdemon had left, the sickly gray staining her freckled skin. He looked at her so sadly, years and nights that had passed so long between them. 

“Are you all right?” She could not get up, her legs weak and betraying her will to stand. She shut her eyes, spots forming in the black realm behind her lids. Magic came so easily after a month held in a cell. She had not been drained after the first few days, once Cullen had come. 

“Why … Why are you alive?” She played it over and over again; the stinking alley – sweat, urine, death clinging to her skin. He had tried to speak her name and instead blood had bubbled from his lips. It had turned his body inward, the strength to get to her failing. “I … I watched … I saw you die.” She remembers the feeling of Taliesin's boot on her neck. He pushed down, squishing her face into the dirt. It had all gone to black after that, his voice still echoed her name in her head. He was watching her, want and despair passing equally through his honey eyes. 

“I did not die that day. Taliesin … he bled me close to the end, yes. But he stopped, healed me and took me prisoner.” He spoke calmly though the hiss and rage were building just under his tone. They spilled into the main clearing of camp, many sets of eyes watching them intently. 

“Why … W-why didn't you tell me?” She stood on shaking legs, wrapping the furs around her to hide her skinny legs and boney hips. “In six years, no word? You live and no word?” The shock began to slip from her, the betrayal taking its place. She remembers nights not eating, the dehydration creaking her bones and her stomach folding into itself. She remembers the nightmares, the sweating, the sickness that had plagued her for weeks. Anders had said it was the Archdemon, most likely, but she knew the truth of it. She knew she missed him, needed him and in this moment, hated him. 

“I had to keep you safe.”

“Safe? Safe!” Her strength was flooding back into her while the others in camp made their way toward the trees. She could feel the soft tendrils of her magic creeping up her spine. She was seething, red painting her vision in ghastly hues that made him seem silver in the glow of the moon. 

“Do you think the Crows asked Taliesin to spare your life? Do you know what I have gone through to be assured you still live?” They are circling each other, he trying to restrain himself while she is letting go, letting her magic fill her. 

“I have taken the Crows with guile and gold. I fear them no more than a mabari pup as they now sit in my hands.” Her fury is spat into his face.

“And you think it was so easy? Foolish girl, I have been backing your coin with muscle. The Crows still want you dead, you have done nothing to assure your continued safety.” He wants to hold her down, let her flail against his full weight until she can no longer. She is like a cat, backed to the edge of a waterfall. 

“Foolish? I am foolish!” The magical flame flew from the tips of her fingers unbidden. He rolled to the side, landing back up on his feet with little trouble. Grass began to burn in the wake of her spell. “Foolish enough to have mourned you! Foolish enough to have sought revenge!” She took aim again, pure force coming from the center of her chest and followed by a guttural bellow. It crashed into him, splinting his ribs. 

“Foolish to not think that I might possibly be alive?” Zevran stood, breath not filling his lungs as it should have. She had knocked near all of it from him. 

“I watched Taliesen cut you! I saw you fall!” Tears carved tracks down her face, her teeth gnashing into her lip. Lightning and ice poured from her fingers as she faced him, ready to strike again. He would not draw his blades against her. 

“And yet, here I am.” He made her to watch as he moved his fine hair from his neck, revealing the long gash that had healed in little webbings of white scar. “Not unmarked by that treacherous Taliesen.” Her eyes were wide at the sight of it and he could not deny he enjoyed watching her falter. 

She let her lightning fly at him again, and he dodged, strangely spurred on by the heady glare in her eyes. She was more beautiful now than she had been when he last had her beside him. She was encased in her anger so acutely it sang in his ears. She pulled up clods of ground with her magic, small explosions of dirt blinding his eyes. 

“I mourned you! I … I mourned you!” She jumped upon him, her fists barreling into his face. She moved much quicker than she used to and it took him several tries to gain purchase of her wrists. When he did her silvery green eyes popped open, burst of tears staining her face. 

“And how long did you mourn before taking another to your bed?” She ceased movement, fear and guilt now painting her features. “I have had no one since I left your side. No one moved me. No one even turned my eyes.” He wanted to scream at her, crush her skull and spit on her corpse. But she went still atop him, her arms lax in his grip. “I left because I had to. I left because I had no other choice.”

“Six years … You could have … Six years.” Her head sagged and a rattled sob tore through her throat and shook every inch of her skin. “I killed Taliesin for what he did. I made him suffer.” The man's dying words played in her head; 'Your precious Zevran still lives. Ask your commander, girl. Ask her what she knows'.

“Avile, look at me.” He pulled on her wrists, her face coming to stare at his. She looked as though she might be ill. She trembled from head to toe, the whole of the sensation reeling into him. 

“I hate you.” She tried to move but he tightened his grip. “Let go.” 

“No.”

“Let me go Zevran. Let me go and return to being dead.” She slipped from him, gathering her robe and shoes. They were covered in the upturned mud and grass. She dressed quickly, small noises breaking free of her throat. 

“You … you are going to just walk away?” He did not hear himself speak, had not realized he had until she turned to face him. She looked crazed, the light burn on her forehead taking on an ethereal glow. 

“And what would you have me do?” She sighed, slipping on a crumpled slipper. 

“Stay.” 

“You are dead. It was easier when you were dead.” She pulled on the other shoe and stalked past him, following the lights of the nearby fires. 

“Do not walk away from me.” He grabbed for her wrist, spinning her toward him and nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Her lips were swollen, teeth marks scarring the bottom. 

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Zevran –”

“Avile. Please …” He moved his fingers to lace with hers. She covered her eyes with her free one. 

“Just … I can't … I cannot do this.”

“Why? Why can you not listen to me at least?”

“No … I … you died. You died in front of me!” She was screaming again, her rage finding its second wind. “And now you are not. I wanted the templars to kill me, to send me to your side. And now … And no word, Zevran. No word for six sodding years.” She gestured wildly, circling him again. “You could have told me! You could have found some way to let me know, I have a right! I … I … I gave you a sodding son!” She grabbed chunks of her hair, twirling and pulling, muttering at auctioneer pace. She stared at him, hands falling to her sides. Her face moved from smiling softly, like one would view a corpse to that of a wild animal trapped and dying. 

“A … son?” He paled.

“Yes. A son. He’s seven now.” Her voice had gone silent, ghostly.

“I … have a son?” He could not believe it.

“Yes. Alim. I named him for my father.” She was sobbing now.

“Avile –” He watched as she dug her hands through her crimson robe pockets, scowling and ignoring him still standing there. Was it not enough that he did everything to protect her? For her … He loved her. He would always, but she … and he could not blame her. “Please, listen to me –”

She scratched her long nails to her scarred forehead, the Chantry magic had settled halfway into her skin. A light Andrastian sun stained to her brow; she ripped it open, blood streaming down her face through carved tear tracks that still flowed. She was turning inward, holding her stomach, arms wrapped around the whole. 

“Hearing you hurts. I … you do not know what I have been through! What I …” She seemed trapped in herself, turning this way and that, looking for an escape. There were plenty, but her feet would not comply. They had even wanted his return, felt his loss as the rest of her did. He had been her reason, her air. She turned to the side and vomited, the gag shrill in the small, vacated clearing. She staggered forward and he held the upper part of her arms, trying to steady her. “No!” She screamed, pulling back and falling to her knees. “Do not touch me! Do not touch me!” She still held her stomach, her head now resting against the cool ground. Horrible convulsing sobs wracked her body and he could do nothing but watch. 

“Just go away, go away.” She muttered and he had no idea how long as he stood over her. But he did not move, nor did she, lying prostrate on the wet, magically disturbed ground. 

“I will not.” 

“I hate you.”

“You do not.”

“You know nothing about me!” 

“I know everything about you Avile Surana.”

“What do you want? Why vanish for six years, let me believe you are dead? To save me? Did you just wait until I needed rescuing?”

“You are safest if I am not by your side.”

“If that is true then I would rather be dead.” 

“I had to protect you.”

“I do not need protecting!”

“And this is why the templars caught you.”

“The templars caught me because I am a mage in a very mad city.”

“Avile …”

“Zevran, what do you want from me? Forgiveness? An apology? You were dead. I needed you. Your son needed you.”

“I have no way to make it up to you, I know this.”

Avile stared at him, not breathing or blinking. He watched her, waiting for her to tell him to go. He would not, but he knew there was no way he could stay. Business still required him in Antiva, and she would likely hate the idea. She would need to stay and he would have to delay their reunion longer. 

“I love you. I have always loved you. I don't know … I don't if I …” Her hands crossed her chest, pulling at the loose robes. Had they not fed her properly in captivity? Most likely not, he having spent many nights kept in chains as well. 

“Avile, I needed to protect you. I needed to be sure you were safe.” 

The red headed girl, the one he had dreamed of on such humid nights, the feel of her skin that he still craved with her standing before him, ready once again to spark. She grit her teeth and pulled at her chest, crumpling the fabric of her robes. The letters from Caria, reporting on her progress, her movements by coin through the shadier aspects of Antivan politics. And he had to admit it made him swell with pride when he rend the flesh of his former employers, all while working her side. And by all accounts, she had done so well she could have set herself in the nobility with ease. 

“There is no such thing as safety Zev. You taught me that.” The weight of her words clung to him, seeped into his skin. When did his want to kill her fade? Had there even been a moment where he truly considered it? Watching Rinna had been easy, Taliesin had made it seem so very easy. 

'You think the Warden actually cares for you? Where was she, hmm? Instead a dwarf comes chasing after you. Thought you were rutting that filthy mage.' Taliesin leaned back in the chair, the boat swaying as he tried to light his pipe. He had Zevran tied and he laughed at him, mocked him for defending her, for his display. 

“Do you not trust me to look after myself?” She faced him with clear eyes, those muddy sea foam green orbs that had haunted his sleep. 

“I trust you.” He nodded, daring to unclench his fists and step toward her. He did not care what she did to him, just that she did not turn away. 

“Not enough to tell me you're alive.” She recalled those nights heaving, days without sleep and him in every thought. He had consumed her, dead or alive he always had. And just when she thought things could be different, or better – no more soaking pillows with her tears or filling waste bins with her sick; no, he was here instead, alive and well, just as Taliesin had said. She laughed, unable to push the bubble back down the far reaches of her throat. 

“I would follow you to Black City. Anywhere.”

“So you have said.”

“And so I will trust you, even if you tell me to go.” He could feel it churning, her magic. Ice, wind, cold fire that spun in his veins. Any moment she would leap to her feet and strike him down. He wished that she would, just as when they first met. That spry little thing that flit around the battlefield like a moth to flames. He had heard there was a mage and he had foolishly thought she would fall the fastest, but he had been wrong. Even separating her from her comrades had been a foolish. He had not anticipated the force that she would fight back. 

“No.” She heaved a heavy sigh, whipping her back over her shoulders. She had always been quick to recover. “No, don't go.” She sat on her knees a tree consumed by fire breaking apart behind them.

“Then what, Avile? What do you wish of me? Ask and I shall grant it.” He knelt before her, scrambling to hold her face. It was so warm, his fingers like icicles on her skin. And yet, that spark, it was there all the same. 

“I just … I have never wanted anything from you. Nothing that you would not give freely.” She leaned into his touch, sighing in a shuddered breath. “But you … I have dreamed of this, every night since then. Every time I look at our son. Every night I watch you die in my dreams. Every night I am never able to stop it.” His thumb ghosted over her lips. She whimpered, taking in a harsh shock of air. 

“Anything mi cara, just ask.” He never wanted to stop touching her, to stop feeling her skin shake under his hands. “Please Avile, please.” He bent his head, leaning against her forehead and taking in her shuddering breath.

“Come back with me. Come back and meet your son.” Her eyes stared at his, so full and so sad. He wanted to push that unfortunate lack of light away. He wanted to bury it next to Taliesin and forget them both for an eternity. 

“As you wish.” He kissed her, the feeling nostalgic and lifting, like he had never left her side. It would never be perfect, he knew that, but this … this was all he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, quite the shock. Alim was never mentioned in the previous chapters because, well, they weren't in Amaranthine that long. Just assume Sigrun & Oghren are watching him, teaching him bawdy things no seven year old should know.


End file.
